Project Legacy
by notcreativeenoughtomakeone
Summary: After the raid of cargo ship, the BSAA and DSO jointly investigate who financed it and for what purpose. Sherry Birkin leads the investigation, uncovering troubling revelations as she begins to expose the actions of a new emergent group with incredible political and economical clout.
1. My Lady Margarete

After months of intelligence gathering and analysis, _Operation Serpent Lure_ was underway. Three black hawk helicopters fast roped BSAA agents on the rear and front deck of the cargo vessel _My Lady Margarete._ The three teams swiftly cleared the deck with zero resistance. One team stayed on top to secure the deck while the other two went below deck.

The agents had reached the second level of the ship before anyone realized they were there. The alarm blared in vain as the BSAA closed in from both sides. BOWs were released on the third level, however even that barely provided a speed bump. Within minutes the cargo was secure, the deck was secure, and the bridge was secure. _My Lady Margarete_ was secure.

Cleaning teams were lifted in next, followed closely by the techs who would catalogue and take samples of everything present. What a catch this was. T and C-Virus present, along with a preserved specimen from a BOW event, though they'd need do test to confirm which one if even known.

Interrogating anyone was proving impressively difficult. The engineers spoke Chinese, the techs spoke French, and the crew of the ship were Bulgarian. It was neatly compartmentalized, so no one knew the entire story.

What proved the most interesting find was a hard drive which showed pictures of preserved specimens. Several dozen men, women, and unidentifiable remains.

Within the next month the ship would be moved to London and stripped piece by piece to ensure not a single stone was unturned.

* * *

Preston Reynolds shuffled the notes in his hand as went through the details the Operation and what led to it, and what was happening now. Preston was a former military intelligence officer before becoming a senior analyst for the BSAA, and later the special operations group in the BSAA, Silver Dagger. He was of average height and build short brown hair with a high fade on the side, a look he carried over from the army. The audience for his brief were decision makers within the BSAA, which he always referred to as _the suits_ because they always wore plain black suits as if they pre-planned their attire in advance.

"To summarize, there isn't much on who owns or financed the cargo, or the ship itself. The manifest is bogus, the papers were forged or expired, in some cases having not been renewed for two captains. What we do know is the money for the cargo originated from cash drops across multiple countries, primary eastern Europe and parts of Asia."

"Any indications of where the money originated from before it was withdrawn as cash?" A suited asked.

"Zero, and each withdraw ranged between five and nine thousand dollars, placing it firmly under the limit of a reportable currency transaction. The only links we have is the slips the ship was docked in when it was supposed to be getting inspected. It went through a slip in Singapore, sailed to a slip in Jakarta, before departing for its next destination where we hit it in the Indian Ocean. How it got through without inspection is likely just bribery, not even suspicious in that part of the world. Those slips were both owned by the same man, Wesley Smithson"

"Who is that?"

"U.S. national, international shipping billionaire, he owns the slips. He also owns slips in Japan, China, Thailand, you get the point. Regardless, the recommendation is along with investigating the port, investigate where this money came from. We've traced one drop picked up in Moldova."

"Do we have updates on the analysis of the possible lab?" A suit asked, referring to the pictures.

"We do know one of the pictures was BSAA Operative Piers Nivans, killed in action in two thousand thirteen in the China Sea. The others are still being identified."

After the briefing was adjourned Preston returned to his office, habitually messy with books, one and three-inch binders, and random folders on shelves and on the small table next to his desk. There was also a small security safe for classified documents. Hearing a knock no sooner than he sat, he turned and saw Chris Redfield, looking rather out of place in a suit and jacket.

"What's up Chris?" Preston asked, leaning into his chair finding a pen to wiggle with his fingers. Part of him needed to be occupied.

"I think I got something that could help ID those pictures," Chris said, Preston's eyebrows asking for details, "My sister, Claire, works for Terra Save. They have a data base with thousands of missing persons assumed kidnapped. Keep it small, sign non-disclosures, they could help."

Preston placed the end of the pen to his lip, then softly bit his teeth into it, thinking.

"NDAs, Terra Save cannot use it for press," Preston said, Chris nodding in acceptance, "Give me her contact information I'll get it started."

* * *

Sherry was early. Bright, smiling and early. However she was very early, so she was bright, smiling, early, and alone. Her tea was warm instead of hot she was so early. Claire was punctual, she'd be on time. Say she'll be there at eleven and she'll walk in the exact moment the second hand reaches twelve.

The moment Claire entered the restaurant Sherry lit up. Half leaping from her chair, completely wrapping her in a warm hug before they both sat down across from each other.

"Been here long?"

"Just got here myself," Sherry lied, now embarrassed her tea was cold. Not warm, cold.

"We don't do this often enough, and even when we do there's some work involved," Claire said, pulling out her phone and placing it on the table.

"Now I have a schedule that doesn't involve needles," Sherry said, Claire awkwardly chuckling, Sherry then realizing that probably came out wrong. "What did you want to show me?"

"You didn't see these, not yet at least. A few weeks ago, Chris' team busted a cargo ship in route, carrying…stuff," Claire starting, Sherry informing her she heard about it, "In this stuff was a hard drive containing a series of pictures, eighty-four in total," Claire said, sliding the phone across the table, "Picture fifty-two."

Sherry scanned to fifty-two and saw a man in what appeared to be a stasis chamber filled with water. He looked young, late teens, early twenties, with straight red hair. He didn't appear to be being kept alive, merely preserved as there was no apparent way to provide oxygen or nourishment.

"That's Steve Burnside," Claire said, Sherry trying to remember who that was, "The man who saved me on Rockford Island."

"That Steve?" Sherry asked.

"I know he's not alive, he's dead, but you and I both know that's relative. BSAA is dragging their feet on investigating the financial side of this. Can you, or Leon, or who ever give them a hand?"

"My case load is actually open, I can ask if they'll let me go," Sherry said and looked at the phone again.

"Number seventy three," Claire said, and Sherry started scrolling again, but stopped at number sixty five which was a baby, though not in a stasis pod. "Savages." Sherry recognized seventy three. It was Piers Nivans.

"I heard he didn't make it."

"I'll try to get those to you as fast as possible, but that's enough business. How's Jake doing?"

"Last I knew he was working in Morocco, but I did use him as a freelance a few months ago," Sherry said, giving a very business answer to a very personal question.

"Never mind," Claire said, not up for teasing her so early into their evening.

* * *

Chris exited the port management office in Singapore. To say they were less than welcoming was an understatement. Singapore was a dead end.

Walking to his jeep he sat in the passenger seat as his phone range. Putting in his Bluetooth he pressed answer. "Redfield."

"Any luck in Singapore?" Preston asked.

"Not a thing. Security cameras are closed circuit and purged every four days. I'm sure there is a law saying they can't do that, but good luck telling them that. Manager is bribable, and whoever signed the inspection form is basically the Asian version of John Smith."

"It's Singapore, western Anglo-Saxon names are common. I knew that was going to be a dead end. We should be in Europe. Speaking of which, your sister called, the DSO requested to participate. They just need us to disclose what we have. Do you know a Sherry Birkin?" Preston asked.

"She's a friend, trustworthy," Chris said.

"I'll get her the stuff then."

They both hung up, Chris hovering over his phone for a moment before he scrolled through his contacts and called Sherry.

"Sherry Birkin," was also her way of answering the phone.

"It's Chris, how fast can you get Jake to Moldova?"

* * *

Jake Muller leaned against the hood of a car, placing one foot on the fender while repeatedly catching and tossing an apple with his left hand. Within a day of Sherry calling him requesting his assistance he made his way to Moldova and was now waiting to pick her up from the Chisinau International Airport. A group had recently exited the aircraft and were now hailing taxies or leaving by some other means.

Jake eventually saw Sherry, her pulling her carryon behind her while dressed in more casual, yet still formal attire. He noticed she had let her hair grow out a little, it now reaching her shoulder blades and contained in a ponytail. What stood out the most was that she still wore the blue scarf from China.

"What do you got me doing this time super girl?" Jake asked, Sherry catching his apple and handing him her bag, "Nice to see you too."

"We got work to do," Sherry said, taking a bite a bite of his apple before handing it back and taking her bag again.

"Let's get to it then, "Jake replied, taking a bite over her teeth marks and climbing into the driver's seat while she tossed her luggage in the back seat and took the passenger side. "Seriously, what are we doing here?"

"Hopefully not too…last time. Can't really go into detail yet," Sherry explained.

"I assume you have a form or…" Jake started before Sherry held out her phone, it requesting him to place his finger to sign with a box outlined. Jake pressed his finger to the box, it scanning his finger print.

"Jake Muller, by signing this you are agreeing to…"

"Not my first say nothing agreement, not even with Uncle Sam." Jake said, shifting the car into drive, "And you're supposed to give me the briefing, before I sign."

"BSAA hit a cargo ship, found a bunch of stuff, and when they followed the money, part of it originated from Moldova. Crew was less than useful, they're still interrogating them, but finding the linguist to translate has apparently been a nightmare."

"It was probably a babel op," Jake said, pulling the car out and merging with the traffic.

"Babel op?"

"Babel, like the tower of babel. _Therefore is the name of it called Babel; because the lord did there confound the language of all the earth: and from thence did the lord scatter them abroad upon the face of all the earth._ It's a smuggling strategy to ensure compartmentalization by having every facet of the operation run by a different nationality, but more importantly…"

"A different language," Sherry said, Jake nodding, "The techs were French, the engineers who maintained the specimens were Chinese, the crew were Bulgarian. If they're intercepted, that's a big mess to untangle."

"At the very least it stalls the investigation to hide or move the important stuff," Jake explained with a grin, "I see why you need me now."

"Chris asked me to ask you for help, figured if anyone had connections to the underworld in eastern Europe, it'd be you."

"I'm flattered."

"Do you know someone?"

"I may know someone who owes me a favor."

* * *

With the DSO cooperating with the BSAA on the investigation, the two agency's deputy directors arranged and ironed out the specifics. The DSO would be the lead investigators, but any actions on targets for arrest would fall under the BSAA, more so for arrest authority and jurisdictional purposes. The first person the DSO interviewed when they accepted the case was Wesley Smithson. Senior Special Agent Leon Kennedy stood in the observation room, and listened as Wesley Smithson was interviewed with his lawyer.

"So it's supposed to be a coincidence a ship carrying illicit cargo, was parked at not one but two of your slips?" The officer asked.

"I have slips all over the world, I own the property but owning the property itself is not how you generate capital from it. I lease out those slips, perhaps your time would be better served speaking to the leased entities."

"We will need a list of your leases, and…"

"As soon as my client sees a warrant for those documents," the lawyer said, the officer keeping his cool, and nodding.

"You will see a warrant, I can promise that."

"Excellent, so until then, I have nothing to say," Wesley said, standing up and button his suit back and exiting the room with his lawyer. The officer in the room looked at Leon, shaking his head in frustration.

The officer entered the hallway where Leon was waiting, and walked together out of the building. They used an interrogation room from the FBI, the DSO not having a room for that purpose at their field office.

"Now what, we don't have much to go off of," the officer said to Leon.

"Sherry will find something in Moldova, and Hunnigan has the analysts turning over every stone on Smithson," Leon said, his phone ringing a moment later, "Speaking of Hunnigan….You find anything?"

"On paper, Smithson is a saint," Hunnigan said, Leon opening the passenger door, the officer driving.

"Go on."

"It was hard to find, because he didn't deduct any of his charitable donations, and hasn't on his taxes for the last ten years. We researched for any political group or charities that have a list of donors. Pick any anti-bioterror group, he donates to it. He's even on the board of directors for TerraSave. He's very private, generous, and even has a lot of sympathy points because when he was in college in 1998 his entire family was killed. Guess where's he from."

"Raccoon City?" Leon asked.

"Yup. The best we can do at this point, is dig through the finances of any of the groups, see if they are a front for something else. He'll never talk without a lawyer, he's not stupid. The BSAA sent some analysts to us to work on this jointly, I want you here for a synch briefing."

"On my way," Leon said, opening the door to the car and sliding into the passenger seat. The officer took the driver's seat and started to drive them back to headquarters.


	2. Joint Task Force

Leon squeezed his way into the crowded briefing room, having to stand in the back near the door. In the front rows were BSAA analysts brought from London with their chief analyst Preston Reynolds leading the briefing.

"Good afternoon, I'm Preston Reynolds, BSAA chief analyst. I assume you know why we're all here. This is to fill in the gaps with what each organization knows. DSO will be the primary investigative arm of this mission, while the BSAA will be operations as their jurisdiction in terms of arrest authority is wider than yours. Analytics will be conducted jointly and will provide updates every six hours or whenever critical mission intelligence is discovered. Any questions?"

"I have an agent operating in eastern Europe right now," Leon started, Preston looking over at him, "If they find something actionable, how long will the BSAAs response time be?"

"I know the agent you are referring too. We deployed a team a few hours after their arrival," Preston said, Leon expression appearing annoyed.

"That would have been nice to know yesterday," Leon said, the room laughing a little.

"Hence the meeting," Preston said, understanding his concern, "Anything else?"

The room was silent, so Preston went to the next slide.

"BSAA intercepted a cargo ship named _My Lady Margarete_ in the Indian Ocean. Though it took time to sort out, interrogations with the crew alludes to the ships next stop being in Sri Lanka, then moving east to Lima, Peru for the final stop where the specimens were to be transported by ground by a different team. Specimens onboard the ship included T and C-Virus samples, including the T-Abyss Virus from the remains of deceased FBC Operative Rachel Foley from the Queen Zenobia incident in 2005.

"The BSAA has accounted for and provided a complete inventory of all items found on board, benign or otherwise. Besides vial samples and a few C-Virus cocoons which were released as a last-ditch defense, no other major finds related to BOWs were found.

"Questions before we continue?" Preston asked.

"Do we have any intelligence related to who was receiving the shipment in South America? This entire thing right now sounds more like the _My Lady Margarete_ wasn't the seller or the buyer, just merely the transporter," Hunnigan said, Preston nodding.

"That's our analysis as well, as per who was receiving it, we have no leads. All of the slips the ships docked at prior to interception were properties own by a man named Wesley Smithson, a shipping and property mogul located in the U.S. who coincidently also owns slips in Sri Lanka, and Peru."

"We're digging into him right now," Hunnigan said, Preston pausing for her to continue but she didn't, and after a long quiet ten seconds of him tapping the podium, he continued.

"The ship also contained some financial information, but that's a tangled mess of cash drops. We know where some of the cash drops were picked up, but not much beyond that. All of the amounts were under what would otherwise be required to disclose for a single transaction. Moving money quietly is incredibly difficult, so we're not dealing with rookies here, these guys are professionals. From what we've determined, there were over thirty drops of at least five thousand, so at a minimum a hundred and fifty thousand."

"On a macro scale, that's not that much," Hunnigan said.

"Yes, unless parts of the cargo itself, is the payment. How much does a vial of T-Virus sell on the black market? Last estimates placed those around five to seven hundred thousand, per vial. Because the market was flooded with anti-virus injections as a precautional response, those are cheaper ranging in the hundreds of dollars per inoculation. We found twenty T-Virus samples on the ship, valuing the cargo in the millions, but they might not actually be cargo, but payment. A hundred and fifty thousand minimum, that could cover just the transport."

"If that's the theory, what are they buying?" Hunnigan asked.

"Uncertain at this time, but we'll get there."

Hunnigan and Preston then began to have their own conversation as if no one else was in the room. Seeing the briefing was over everyone began filing out little by little, Leon leaving himself and walking to his desk. Pulling out his phone he saw he missed a call from Sherry so called her back and placed it to his ear.

"Updates?" Leon asked.

"Jake's contact came through. We know where and when the next cash drop will be," Sherry said, Leon scrounging around his desk for a notebook to write this down.

"What do you got?"

"As long as we don't mind having a less than reputable source…"

"Sherry…"

"Sorry…the drop will be in the parking garage of the shopping Malldova in two days, at noon. The first party parks and gets coffee with the second party. They exchange keys and the second party drives the money away. It never actually leaves the vehicle."

"That's smart, any sting will never actually see the money swap hands," Leon said, walking with the phone to his ear back into the conference room where Hunnigan and Preston were still talking. He whistled loudly, them both turning to see Leon holding the notebook with the words _'Sherry Found Drop Site.'_

"Apparently the guy who drives the car there, is always the same guy. We know what he looks like too. I also made contact with the BSAA team a few hours ago, we're trying to plan it out."

"Keep Hunnigan or me updated," Leon said, hanging up the phone and looking toward Hunnigan who hastily walked over to him.

"Two days, BSAA is planning a sting," Leon said, Preston surprised how fast that happened. Leon filled them both in on what they knew, Preston sitting in a char to think.

"Clever," Preston said, irritated on how hard that would be to identify the correct vehicle, "Broad daylight too."

"Same person is likely. Professionals would only use people they trusted not to steal or skim off the payment," Hunnigan said, Preston shrugging.

"A group this entrenched, no one would have the guts even if they had the inclination to steal from them. They hire a local person for the last part, so if they're caught it never traces back to them. They don't even know who to flip on."

"Still, at least thirty different drop sites in nearly two dozen countries. What do you think that means?" Leon asked.

Preston looked over his shoulder and saw a whiteboard. Standing up, he walked across the room and picked up the marker on the tray.

"Okay, so we have three continents. Europe, Africa, and Asia," Preston said, drawing circles and writing the continents in them. He drew additional circles under each, filling in the known countries. Then it hit him.

"Holy shit, it's an NGO," Preston said, looking back at them.

"What?" Leon asked.

"Non-governmental organization…"

"I know what NGO stands for. How do you know that?" Leon asked.

"I'm an analyst, but my history prior to working with the BSAA is primarily financial analysis. I used to be an accountant for an NGO before I joined the Army and went to military intelligence and threat analysis. Take any large multinational, or in this case international NGO and lay out their distribution stream, it looks like this."

"Why not a normal business?" Hunnigan asked.

"Charitable organizations have different finance regulatory practices. It's a better cover, plus this money is way to streamlined. A normal business could lose money on taxes when transferring it to a different country, and is more likely to be audited.

"The primary hub," Preston said drawing a bigger circle above the continents, "With regional hubs," pointing at the continents, "with the local offices," pointing lastly at the countries, "This is why the transactions don't exceed ten thousand. They don't want to expose the NGO to an audit."

"What if they don't want to be exposed to the NGO itself," Hunnigan said, Preston handing her the marker, "They might be embezzling from the NGO."

"How would they be dropping five to ten thousand a transaction with no one noticing?" Leon asked.

"That's easy, establish a proxy company or a project the NGO assists with, then liquidate the company. Or falsify receipts of what the money was spent on, or a book keeping scheme. The NGO's books will stay clean, and no one is the wiser, or at least until they get what they need from it. An NGO this size, probably spends millions if not billions a year. They spend more on overhang than they lose from the embezzlement," Preston explained, Leon smiling.

"That's a start point. How many NGOs can you think of with this much money who could be in each of these countries?" Leon asked.

"Red Cross, Art of Living, maybe BRAC or even the Peace or Mercy Corps comes to mind. This could be the U.N., not the first-time large scale fraud was discovered."

"Hate to say it, BSAA," Hunnigan said.

"Not likely, we must report expenditures starting at five thousand, and funding is distributed at regional, not country level," Preston said, Hunnigan looking at the white board again.

"We've created more questions than answers," Leon said.

"At least we're asking the right questions now," Preston said, and continued to hypothesis.

* * *

Sherry and Jake parked the car in the center of a vacant lot, awaiting his contact. Jake sat on the hood of the car while Sherry paced around the lot, kicking rocks to stay occupied.

"Who is this contact of yours?" Sherry asked.

"Wilma, old school gangster," Jake replied.

"A woman?" Sherry asked.

"She's the criminal pulse of this region. If anyone knows something, she'd be the one. Soviet old school, trades in things more valuable than money," Jake said, Sherry asking what that was, "Favors."

"Favors?"

"Soviets controlled everything and that made doing business, legal or illegal, difficult. Organized crime was pretty non-existent unless you were kicking something up to someone in the government. You couldn't always pay someone, so the next best thing, was a favor, tit for tat."

"I take it someone as connected as Wilma owing you a favor, is worth a lot?" Sherry asked.

"More than gold."

"You're wasting a favor for this?"

"I have a lot to make up for, trading this favor for something that might help will start balancing my scales out," Jake said as headlights began to approach them, "Forewarning, we'll be disarmed and blindfolded."

"What?" Sherry asked.

Minutes later Sherry sat next to Jake in the back of a vehicle, their wrists tied, and black hoods over their heads. Sherry could only smell her own breath, and hear the motor of the engine. The vehicle stopped, and they were escorted into a building, Sherry accidently pumping into a wall twice before being guided to a final room where she felt her wrists tighten then raised on a wench, hoisted the two of them into the air. Finally, their masks were yanked off their heads.

Standing in front of them was an older woman whose best days were well behind her, but in those days, she must of have been gorgeous. Her hair was entirely grey, her making no effort to dye it, allowing her age to show without any shame. She was wrinkled, with long boney fingers, a large gaudy ring on each. A green dress was worn loosely over her tall and skinny body with a lynx fur scarf draped over her shoulders.

"Is this really necessary Wilma?" Jake asked, looking up at his binds then back at her.

"I know who you are, and what you can do. I also know, Jake Muller has been on the up and up. I was skeptical, knowing what I know about you. Until you show up at my door step, with a U.S. agent, asking for that favor," Wilma said, holding up Sherry's badge.

"I can state, the U.S. government isn't interested in your business," Sherry said, Wilma looking at her and laughing.

"If I assumed you were a threat to me, we'd be having a different conversation," Wilma said, gesturing to her subordinate who punched Jake in the stomach, "This kind of conversation."

"Next fucker who hits me is dead," Jake said, Wilma gesturing again, Jake pulling his feet up and catching his attacker by the neck, then flipping him to the ground and pressing his boot into his neck.

"And you wonder why I have you restrained," Wilma said, the men backing away from Jake who released his assailant. Wilma stepped toward Sherry, sliding her hands around her waist, then pulling her toward her.

"What are you doing?" Sherry asked.

"Remembering what it was like to be this young and beautiful. Hard to imagine now, but I was too, cursed with beauty," Wilma said, releasing Sherry's waist, her hands drifting up and sliding her over breasts to her chin without losing contact with her body.

"When I was a girl, not a day older than thirteen, I lived with my family in a village in Romania, a tiny place filled with tiny people. My father worked at a bar, and I assisted to support the family. The Soviet soldiers, they loved me. They flirted, they tipped, they came to the bar just for me.

"One day, they held me down on the table, and each man took his turn with me. I was a girl, not a woman. My father just watched. My village just watched. This was not the only time. Far from it. From the time I was thirteen, to seventeen, each day, without fail, they held me down, until I was so accustomed to it, they no longer needed to hold me. I wore dresses every day, just so it was easier, so they didn't damage my clothing. After all the years, they all just watched.

"I remember standing in front of the mirror with a knife in my hand, wanting to mutilate my face, so maybe they'd lose interest. One of the men, wanted me all to himself. The officer of the soldiers. He married me, and after I gave him the most pleasurably night of his life, asked me what I wanted as a wedding gift," Wilma said, snapping her fingers and was given a cigarette that was lit for her, "So I asked him to burn my village to the ground. Then I slit his throat."

"When I was twelve, I survived Raccoon City," Sherry said, Wilma grinning at her.

"Another survivor."

"I was exposed to a virus, but my body won. The government treated me more like a lab rat than a person," Sherry said, Wilma holding up her badge.

"Yet you choose to serve that which tortured you. Why not let them burn?"

"If I stop what happened to me, happening to even one person, it's worth it," Sherry said, Wilma turning away.

"Can we actually get to why we're here?" Jake asked, Wilma turning back quickly and back handing him with her rings.

"You don't ask, she ask. I correct to assume the favor it not yours, but hers." Wilma said.

"It is, what we want, is information," Sherry said, Wilma snickering.

"We. You keep saying we. You and him?" Wilma asked.

"Not important," Jake said, a man striking him in the back, "Fuck this."

Jake kicking back, sending the man sprawling across the ground. A second man charged from the front, Jake placing his heels on his chest and propelling himself up and off the hook. He swept the feet out from under the next one, then bicycled kicked backwards, before elbowing the last in the face. When he turned back to Wilma, she had a gun drawn on him.

"What information do you need, then, get the fuck out of my city," Wilma said, then looked back to Sherry.

"The BSAA raided a ship last month, and seized some cargo. That cargo was financed by money, cash drops, that originated in Moldova," Sherry said, Wilma lowering the gun.

"I know of this. They exchange the money at the Malldova, my own men have done this drop. They leave vehicle, exchange key, and we leave in that vehicle. Always different car, always different driver, always same contact."

"Do you know when the next drop is?" Sherry asked.

"Two days, noon," Wilma answered, returning the gun to her subordinate, she whispered something into his ear, him nodding and leaving the room. They stood quietly for a few seconds before he returned with a yellow envelope with the word ' _Insurance_ ' written on it.

"You never saw me, you did not acquire this information from me, I owe you nothing now," Wilma said, holding the envelope up as black hoods were shoved back onto their heads. The movement was the same, just in reverse, before they're binds were removed and they were shoved out of a car with their hoods still on.

Pulling the hood off, Jake looked at Sherry who landed on her stomach, pushing herself up to all fours before pulling her hood off. On the ground between them was the envelope Wilma had minutes ago. Looking around, Sherry saw their car was still there, so crawled to the envelope and was assisted to her feet by Jake. Opening the envelope, they saw pictures of the man who was at every cash drop, an older pudgy gentleman with brown hair and a prominent bald spot.

"Do I want to know what you did for that favor?" Sherry asked.

"No, and don't ask again," Jake said, walking to the car and starting the engine.


	3. Cleaning House

The DSO and BSAAs joint effort yielded nothing, and wasn't expected to until Sherry updated them with the results from the sting in Moldova. Preston and Hunnigan had comprised a list of NGOs that had the scope and finances that could have been funding, knowingly or not, the movement of the cargo from the _My Lady Margarete_.

Claire Redfield's people at TerraSave also provided their findings of no positive matches for missing persons. The BSAA virologist who could identify an infection just by observing pictures, updated Preston as well. There was a disturbing trend.

"Each picture is a specimen of a mutated person from nearly every bio-terror event post Raccoon City," Preston said to Hunnigan, dropping the file on her desk that he just printed when it landed in his email.

"T-Virus, Harvardville Airport 2005. G-Virus, the remains of Curtis Miller, 2005. Los Iluminados cult member, and a hand of a Las Plagas giant mutation, 2004. T-Phobus virus, 2011. Add Rachel Foley's body to this list, you include _Queen Zenobia_ and the T-Abyss. Someone is collecting them," Preston said, Hunnigan reviewing the results. Of the eighty-four pictures, they could either identify a person by name, or the strain of virus they were infected with upon death of thirty-two of them.

"Where does a seemingly uninfected living baby fit in this puzzle?" Hunnigan asked.

"No idea, that confused them too," Preston said, sitting across from her, "But who ever they are, they have access to specimens of nearly every strain of bioweapon ever used."

"That's terrifying. To what end?" Hunnigan asked.

"Every time we take one out, somehow a torch is passed, and the research continues with a different group. Even Umbrella had some underlining philosophy behind their actions. Neo-Umbrella was more of proxy organization for political reasons," Preston said.

"I know, he was my boss," Hunnigan said, Preston clearing his throat awkwardly. Before atmosphere degraded further, Hunnigan's phone rang. Picking it up from her desk, she saw it was Sherry calling.

"Please tell me you have something," Hunnigan said.

"Get ready for a shit storm," Sherry started, "Sting was successful, and we've identified the man who picks up the money as Michael Carrington. He's the treasurer of the Moldova regional office of TerraSave."

Hunnigan wrote down _TerraSave_ on a sticky note and showed it to Preston who mouth ' _What the fuck?'_

* * *

Two days later with warrants in hand, BSAA jointly with local authorities stormed into every TerraSave regional office globally and left with the computers, the treasurer, deputy directors, and directors in handcuffs.

Chris was still in Singapore, so was present at the raid, but was only watching as BSAA and local police walked computers out of TerraSave. Feeling his phone vibrating in his pocket, he pressed the button on his ear piece.

"Redfield," Chris answered.

"What the hell is going on Chris?" Claire said from the other side, "BSAA just raided my office, I'm in jail right now, this is my phone call."

"BSAA discovered the funding for that cargo ship, was embezzled from TerraSave treasurers," Chris said, Claire's response was absolute silence, "Claire?"

"That can't be right."

"The evidence is bad, really bad. I wasn't allowed to give you a heads up. I have to completely recuse myself from any actions regarding TerraSave," Chris said, Claire going quiet again, before exhaling loudly. "You okay."

"No I'm not," Claire said, annoyed he'd even ask.

"You'll probably be cleared in a day or two…"

"Oh come on…"

"Claire calm down. Just cooperate, but get a lawyer."

"Getting a lawyer makes me look suspicious," Claire said, pressing her head against the wall in frustration.

"Getting a lawyer makes you look smart," Chris said, Claire sighing into the phone.

"Fine," Claire said before hanging up the phone.

* * *

Sherry sat across from Michael Carrington who was handcuffed to the table. Michael had been quiet the entire time, his expression nothing short of seething anger.

"You can look pissed all you want, I'll wait," Sherry said, Michael staring at her, his fists clinched in rage.

"I'm not talking to you without a lawyer," Michael said, Sherry leaning into her seat and crossing her legs, "I'd like some water!" Michael shouted so anyone behind the glass would hear him.

A minute later the door opened from the outside, a blond woman in a police uniform dropping a glass of water in front of him. Still chained, he tilted it to his mouth to drink, then placed it back on the table as the woman exited the room.

"You don't have shit," Michael said, clearing his throat.

"In fact, I do. I have a lot of shit actually," Sherry said, Michael clearing his throat again.

"Traveling with less than ten thousand dollars in cash is more than legal in this country. Let me go before you regret…" He said, clearing his throat again.

"I would advise you to not threaten a federal agent," Sherry said as Michael began to violently cough before he suddenly combusted in flames, Sherry jumping out of her chair, her back hitting the wall behind her.

"Oh shit," Jake said from the other side of the glass, running out of the observation room, "Open the door!" Jake shouted, turning the corner to the door, seeing a dead police officer lying on the flood in a pool of blood, and the handle snapped off.

Michael's body began to melt, then hardened into a C-Virus cocoon. Sherry slid her back against the wall till she reached the door, jiggling the handle that didn't move.

Sherry rammed her shoulder into the door, but it didn't budge. Sherry could hear someone on the other side doing the same.

The cocoon began to hatch, Sherry reflectively reaching for her side arm that she turned in when she entered the building. Picking up the chair she swung it into the glass to no avail.

"Sherry!" Jake shouted, continuously getting as much standoff as he could get before ramming the door again. Several police officers began running down the hallway to help. Seeing a gun at the officer's hip, Jake pulled it from his holster and ran back, ignoring the officer's shouts, to the observation room where he saw the cocoon had hatched and Sherry was stuck with a C-Virus variant that would explode.

Jake shot at the glass which formed a circular crater, but didn't break.

"Fuck," Jake said, shooting three more times around the first break, before grabbing a chair and beginning to hammer it against the glass which began to bow toward the room.

The monster began to approach Sherry who kicked it to the opposite corner of the room. Thinking quickly, she ran to the edge of the table and flipped it over, standing it up on it's side and pushed it against the creature, trapping it in the corner.

The monster began to balloon before detonating, propelling the table across the room with Sherry, crushing her against the wall. Jake was drawing the chair back to swing again, the glass blowing out, throwing him out the door and crashing into the hallway. The lights of both rooms were shattered, darkness and the horrid smell of the dead creature lingering.

Groaning loudly Jake pulled himself to his feet and looked into the room to see the table on the Sherry. Climbing over the broken window, shards of glass crunching under his boots, he pulled the table off Sherry and kneeled next to her.

Sherry's head had collided with the wall a gash on her face smearing her face in blood, but the gash was already closed, the steam from her healing still hanging in the air. Placing his fingers to her neck, he released a sigh of relief and carried her out of the room and through the door that was blown off its hinges.


	4. The Blond Bitch

Sherry rested in a hospital bed, Jake sitting in a chair next to her. Jake's phone rang, and he pulled it from his jacket pocket and checked to see who was calling. It was a blocked number. Jake pressed answer, then placed it to his ear.

"Who is this?" Jake asked.

"My name is Ingrid Hunnigan, how's my agent?" Hunnigan asked, Jake looking over at Sherry.

"How do you have this number?" Jake asked.

"Just answer the question Jake," Hunnigan said, Jake just shrugging, not really surprised by anything at this point.

"She's recovering," Jake answered, stepping out of the room so the conversation didn't wake her up, "It's Sherry, she'll be right as rain in a few hours."

"Her healing factor consumes calories, she'll be hungry when she wakes up," Hunnigan said, Jake making a mental note, "Do you know anything yet about how that happened."

"BSAA took over that investigation so I don't know much. I watched a blond woman drop off a glass of water, it was probably contaminated. I don't think Sherry was the target, I think whoever is behind this is doing damage control. She was just in the wrong room. Hate to say it, I'm kind of glad it was her and not someone else in there."

"Why?"

"Anyone but Sherry would have been killed," Jake said, Hunnigan agreeing.

"Have her call me when she wakes up," Hunnigan said, Jake saying he would then hanging up.

Jake slid the phone back into his pocket, then looked down both sides of the hallway, seeing a vending machine behind him. Walking over, he pulled out some money, buying a bag of chips that got stuck, dangling off the spiral. Groaning, he placed his foot against the machine, pushing the front legs off the ground, then dropped it, the bag of chips falling along with several other items. Collecting the food, he walked back to Sherry's room where she was sitting upright rubbing her head.

"How long have I been out?" Sherry asked, Jake informing her, then tossing her the chips then sitting in the chair, opening a snack for himself, "Thanks, I'm starving."

"Your boss called. How does she have this number?" Jake said, holding up his phone.

"Your identity is a state secret, but you're still an asset. She likes keeping track of her assets," Sherry said, snapping a chip with her teeth and chewing.

"That's comforting," Jake said, Sherry rotating her feet off the bed and placing them on the ground, "You good to get up?"

"I'm super girl, remember," Sherry said with a grin, and grabbed the bag with her clothes in it to change in the bathroom.

* * *

Leon woke up with the phone on his nightstand chiming. Pulling his head from his pillow, he pulled the phone off his charger, seeing it was Hunnigan calling. Sitting upright with his feet on the floor, he pressed answer.

"Hunnigan?" Leon asked.

"Nine of the TerraSave employees arrested were killed in custody overnight," Hunnigan said, moving straight to business with the conversation.

"Holy shit," Leon said, looking around the floor for his pants. Holding the phone with his shoulder he pulled them to his waist, the picked his shirt up off the ground, "How?"

"Bombs, bullets, and BOWs," Hunnigan replied as Leon pulled his shirt over his head and pulled it down to his body.

"Sherry okay?" Leon asked, remember she was with one of them.

"She's alive," Hunnigan said.

"What the hell does that mean?" Leon asked.

"The man she was interrogating was infected in the room with a C-Virus denoting variant. She couldn't get out of the room. A few cuts and bruises that lasted a few seconds, but she's fine," Hunnigan explained.

"Any of them still alive?" Leon asked, sitting on the bed and pulling his boots on.

"One survived an assassination attempt. The treasurer for TerraSave in Lima, Peru," Hunnigan answered.

"That was the last stop for the ship," Leon said.

"The director wants to send a second agent, and I recommended Helena. BSAA is providing security right now," Hunnigan said, Leon standing up and grabbing his jacket.

"I'm on my way, see you in a few," Leon said, closing his phone and sliding it in his pocket. Feeling his waist was light, he felt for where his side arm would be, then remembered it was on the nightstand next to his phone.

"Forgetting something?" A voice said from the bed, Leon seeing her body rise up from the other side of the bed, "Not talking about the gun either."

"I have to go in," Leon said, picking up his weapon strapping it to his waist.

"It's a big case, gotta go save the world again. I liked you better when you saved damsels," she said, her tilting her head making her blond hair fall across her face.

"You like me less right now?" Leon asked with a smile, her scrunching her face and showing her thumb and finger nearly touching, to show 'just a little bit'.

"You can make it up to me when you wrap up the investigation," she said, throwing the blanket off herself to start getting dressed, "For the record, we still keeping this quiet?"

"A former first daughter sleeping with a federal agent?" Leon asked as she pulled her panties up her legs.

"Take that as a yes," Ashley said, finding her bra and reaching behind her back to hook it, the pulled the straps to her shoulders, "You're not on my detail, and my father isn't the president or a federal employee anymore. They would have nothing to hit you with even if they found out."

"I would still have to explain it," Leon said.

"Then explain it," Ashley said in irritation, pulling her jeans up and walking around the bed to him where her shirt was hanging off the side of the bed, "Besides, we've been coming in and out of each other's places for months now and I'm under protective detail. I guarantee someone at your office knows."

"Haven't heard about it yet," Leon said, kissing her again, then starting to walk to the door, "I'll let you know if I have to leave the country."

"You better," Ashley said playfully.

* * *

The BSAA provided Sherry and Jake the information regarding the assassination of Michael Carrington the next day, and in the time they had control had not achieved much. Prior to entering the interrogation room, the woman had disabled the security footage. They had poor quality surveillance footage from neighboring buildings, so facial recognition had very little data to use. The woman also appeared to be aware of the locations of the cameras, tilting her head or blocking the line of sight. Five cameras outside of the police station caught her, but none of them had a clear image.

"This is the so frustrating," Sherry said, sitting cross legged on her hotel room bed with her laptop on her lap

"She's clearly a pro," Jake from the window, leaning out of it on his elbows, having watched the footage already, "Can't you do some government shit, increase the resolution?"

"Not how that works," Sherry said, rolling the footage back again and groaning, "Any ideas?"

Jake stepped away from the window as Sherry shifted to one side of the bed, Jake sitting down with his feet still on the ground.

The woman exits the police station, and fifteen seconds later a convenience store's security camera catches her from a downward angle on top of her head with her tilting her chin lower to avoid it. Thirty seconds later an ATM catches her, but she's looking across the street. Three seconds later the main camera of the bank catches her at high angle, her still looking away. Nine seconds after that, a bakery's camera catches her, but the camera is inside of the building and the sign of the store blocks her face. The last camera to catch her is the camera on a stop light as she's crossing the street, but she's looking down.

"There," Jake says, seeing something this time.

"What? Where?" Sherry asks, rolling it back a few seconds, "How?" There wasn't a clear a shot.

"Not this camera, this one," Jake said, pointing at a car stopped for the light. All Sherry saw was a taxi.

"That's a taxi," Sherry said.

"Chisinau Taxi is a company," Jake said, pointing at the advertisement on the vehicle, "More likely than not, that car has a dashcam for insurance reasons."

"When she turns down and away from the traffic cam, she's probably looking straight at the dashcam" Sherry said, zooming in on the car, seeing a number written on the side of it. Writing that down she called the police station and requested they assist in acquiring the footage.

* * *

The authorities kept Claire detained for forty eight hours after a lawyer spoke on her behalf, continuously reiterating they had no evidence to hold her longer than forty eight hours. Laying on the bed in the empty cell, the bars slid open, a police officer telling her she was free to go, but not to leave the city. Rushing out of holding, she walked into the main office of the police station where Wesley Smithson was waiting for her, his coat draped over his arm.

"Wesley?" Claire asked as she approached him, "Did you get me out."

"Just kindly reminded them of what the law states about detention on suspicion without evidence," Wesley said, turning to walk with her out of the building.

"How bad is the damage?" Claire asked, Wesley handing her the newspaper with the front-page headline ' _The Terrarist Savings Bank'_. "That didn't take long."

"Pretty bad, which is why we need to get in front of this thing," Wesley said, opening the door for her, "You and I need to start doing some interviews, distancing the rest of TerraSave from these people."

"How many were arrested?" Claire asked.

"One hundred and three," Wesley replied, "Twenty seven of those, the allegation was provable."

"Twenty seven TerraSave employees, were embezzling to fund bioterrorism?" Claire asked, Wesley nodding, "Is there anything to salvage? What difference would an interview make?"

"You're Claire Redfield. You're the most publically known Raccoon City survivor besides maybe Alyssa Ashcroft , helped destroy the Umbrella Corporation, and have even ousted previous bad players in TerraSave. People like you are the heart of the organization. You need to keep the heart beating," Wesley said, Claire relenting and agreeing to help.

"Okay, I'll do a press conference, but you're right there with me," Claire said, Wesley agreeing, then opening a car door for her to take her home.

* * *

The taxi company came through, and the dashcam caught the woman's face perfectly. Sherry ran it through facial recognition, and got a match a few minutes later.

"Jessica Sherawat," Sherry read to herself aloud, "Fugitive, known affiliation with bioterrorism through TriCell, former FBC and BSAA operative."

Sherry opened her service record with the BSAA, and read who her team leader was.

Chris Redfield.

"Small world," Jake said from over her shoulder.

Pulling out her phone, Sherry called Chris, the phone ringing twice before he answered.

"Redfield."

"Jessica Sherawat just killed my prisoner in Moldova," Sherry said, Chris silent for several seconds.

"Where is she now?" Chris asked.

"No idea, she's pretty good at dodging cameras. What can she do?" Sherry asked.

"Infiltration and escape, close quarter combat armed and unarmed, sniping, demolitions," Chris answered.

"TriCell is defunct, who does she work for now?" Sherry asked.

"She hasn't resurfaced since the Queen Zenobia. She's probably just a mercenary now," Chris said, Sherry writing that down, "Contact the BSAA team there, and add her to a BOLO."

"On it," Sherry said, hanging up and informing them.

"I severely doubt her passport has her real name on it," Jake said.

"I'll run her picture through international flight manifests, departing since the attack."

"Don't bother, someone at her level is using a passport with a slightly altered picture. A slightly raised eye brow ridge, a minimally adjusted chin shape, it confuses facial recognition. Do it the old-fashioned way," Jake said, Sherry pulling up the complete list, a series of pictures populating on the screen.

"There's a few thousand," Sherry said.

"It's old-fashioned for a reason. Send it to your boss, I'm sure she has a legion of analysts."

* * *

Four hours later they discovered Jessica was using the alias Monica Tersiev with a Ukrainian passport. Five hours after the attack she boarded a plane to Lima, Peru.

"Her passport is frozen," Hunnigan said, getting off the phone with the Peruvian embassy, "She tries to leave Peru with that thing, she'll be arrested."

"She'll have more than one passport and hair dye," Leon said, picking up her file and scanning it over again, "Trained by Chris, that's a dangerous woman."

"Helena landed in Peru, she made contact with the BSAA who have secured the TerraSave employee. Sherry is asking for a flight, director is not for it," Hunnigan said.

"Why?"

"Maybe because she was just blown up," Hunnigan suggested.

"It's Sherry, she could walk away from a plane crash without a scratch," Leon said, Hunnigan shrugging. Leon sat down next to her, pulling out his knife and spinning it on his finger. "I need to be there."

"You wanted the supervisor job, means less field, more delegating," Hunnigan said.

"I feel useless," Leon explain.

"They both need the experience a case like this provides. Sherry already broke the case, the BSAA could probably finish it on their own," Hunnigan said, Leon tossing his knife up and catching it.

"Let me know the moment something local needs to be investigated," Leon said, sheathing his knife, standing up right, and starting to walk away.

"Tell Ashley hi for me," Hunnigan said, Leon waving over his shoulder, then freezing, turning his head slowly. Hunnigan faced her computer screen and started typing again, "Everybody knows," she said without looking.

* * *

"This is my case sir, I need to see it through," Sherry said, pacing in her hotel room while trying to have him approve her travel to Peru and not back to the United States. Jake sat at the desk, leaning back on the chair with the front legs on the floor and his feet propped up on the desktop, listening to her plead.

"Sir I'm fine, it was just a little explosion," Sherry said, Jake chuckling.

"I know agent White is qualified for this assignment…" Sherry said, looking at Jake and mouthing, _'No he is not.'_ "…I'm still fully mission capable, and I work very well will agent Harper…I'll be on the first flight tomorrow."

Sherry hung up the phone, exhaling deeply then tossing it onto the bed that she fell backward on a moment later.

"We going to Peru?" Jake asked.

"We are going to Peru," Sherry confirmed, Jake clapping once to celebrate, Sherry laughing, "I'm getting some sleep, I feel like I've been up for a week."

"Toss me a pillow, I got the floor again," Jake said.

"The bed is big enough," Sherry said, tossing a pillow at him.

"You're too old for me," Jake said, dropping the pillow on the floor, then laying on the floor with it under his head. Sherry threw the other pillow at him before going to sleep.

In the middle of night, Sherry adjusted in her sleep, unable to sleep, looking at the ceiling. Blinking slowly, she sat up and leaned forward to see if Jake was asleep.

"Can't sleep either?" Jake asked.

"No," Sherry said, leaning all of the way forward, resting on her stomach, looking passed the edge the bed to look at him, "Why were you in Morocco when I called?"

"Looking for information on my father," Jake said, then turned his head, "Did you know our dads were lab partners?" He asked, and Sherry nodded.

"I had to learn a lot when I became an agent. Learned the science on what happened to me, but much of that is still theory at this point. I had to study on the political fallout of Raccoon City, on different events I didn't even know that had happened."

"Sounds like a lot of research," Jake said, Sherry answering with a nod.

"I'm been thinking about something for a while," Sherry started, Jake shifting his eyes to her, "Why did you point a gun at Chris when you found out he killed Wesker? Trying to avenge someone you never met and clearly had no love or loyalty to doesn't add up."

"He took away my ability to ask the bastard some questions. Don't you have some questions for your old man you can't ask anymore?" Jake asked.

"No, because I know who my father was. I didn't shed a single tear when Leon and Claire had to kill him to protect me," Sherry said, Jake chuckling, "What?"

"Our old men, spent their entire lives inventing monsters to help the human race evolve. Turns out the most dangerous things they create were us," Jake said.

"We're not our parents. We only have two choices, blame them, or be better," Sherry said, rolling back to rest on her pillow and try to sleep. Jake stretched his body out, his hands reaching, then did the same.

* * *

The BSAA picked Sherry and Jake up at the airport in Lima, Peru, and escorted them to the United States embassy where they had moved the TerraSave employee Catherine Gonzalez after a failed assassination attempt for her protection. Helena was already there, sitting with Catherine, who she was treating more like a victim than a criminal.

"My mother is sick," Catherine said, sitting next to Sherry on a couch, and across from Helena who was in a chair. Jake was leaning against the door of the vacant office on the third floor of the embassy. The room only had an empty desk, the desk chair, and the couch.

"What does she have?" Helena asked.

"Cancer, cervical cancer," Catherine answered, "All of the doctors we saw, said she was beyond treatment. Then a woman introduces herself, says she knows a doctor who can help."

"So they paid you to get the treatment?" Helena asked.

"Not exactly, they said they'd donate anonymously to the hospital directly, and my mother would receive treatment, if I would write a monthly check, to a local charity in Peru, and be sure the check didn't exceed ten thousand dollars."

"That's probably how the whole thing works," Jake said, everyone looking at him, "They set up fake charities, and donate to them with TerraSave funds. They probably also donate huge sums of money to TerraSave directly, turning the entire organization into a money laundering scheme."

"I had the same feeling when the whole thing was blown open," Catherine said.

"Do you know any other TerraSave employee involved?" Helena asked.

"I've been to a few meetings with other TerraSave regional treasures, and it was a suspicion, but we never talked about it. How would you? Kenny Reinland, the Columbian treasurer, his son was nearly infirm, suddenly a miracle happens and he was walking. Franky Phillips, treasurer from Brazil, is suddenly driving a new Mercedes when all the time I knew her she was driving ten year old pieces of garbage."

"They find the members of TerraSave in duress, if that isn't possible, they just bribe them," Sherry said, Catherine nodding and looking down.

"What happens now? I'm an accessory to terrorism, I know that."

"Through duress," Helena said, "That matters."

Jake listened to the conversation, while looking out the window, at buildings near the embassy passed the fence. There were two and three story buildings on one side of the embassy, all on the side of the building they were in. Jake walked over to the window, then tapped on the glass. It wasn't reinforced.

"Guys, we need to change offices," Jake said, looking back behind him, "This room is a sniper's paradise, and there is a sniper in the city."

Sherry looked over to the window as well, as Jake looked back outside, and saw the reflection of light on a rooftop.

"Sniper!" Jake shouted, as the glass shattered, Sherry leaping across the couch and covering Catherine, taking a bullet in the back shoulder, and another center back. Sherry rolled with her to the ground, blocking line of sight with the desk. Helena went to the ground as well, landing next to her them.

"Sherry!" Jake shouted, seeing her wounds already sealing, and the two bullets being pushed out her body, landing on the floor.

"I'm fine, get Jessica!" Sherry shouted, Jake nodding, then looking out the window, seeing the flag pole. Opened the door to the hallway and ran out, placed his back to the wall and ran through the room and leaped from the third floor to the flag pole.

"What the hell is he doing?" Helena asked, Jake colliding into the pole hard, but managing to grab it and slide down.

Jake reached the bottom and ran for the gate that was opening, BSAA agents driving out in vehicles to pursue her. The moment they entered the street, two cars exploded, throwing the trucks like into the air like toys, and blowing Jake back to the ground.

With his ears ringing, Jake staggered to his feet and ran through the smoke toward the building Jessica fired from, seeing a figure quickly escaping down the fire escape to the street. Jake entered the alley as Jessica started running with her bag slung over her shoulder, Jake aiming up with his side arm.

"Don't move!" Jake shouted, Jessica raising her hands, and slowly turning around. Jessica looked at his gun and mumbled ' _fifteen_ ' to herself, "Move to me!"

"You going to arrest me?" Jessica asked sarcastically, "You couldn't if you wanted to."

"Drop the bag, and move to me!" Jake shouted, Jessica slowly lowering the bag off her shoulder, her thumb discretely hooking a pin on the strap. When it hit the ground, she quickly kicked it toward him, detonating in a flash Jake tried to shoot through, missing as Jessica took off the opposite direction.

"God dammit!" Jake shouted, partially blinded, then running after her, his eyes trying to recover.

"Fourteen," Jessica said under her breath, pivoting around the corner and into the building she just climbed off of. Jake caught her hair trailing her in, cutting into the building seconds later, seeing her at the end of the hall and fired, the round impacting the wall ahead of her. "Thirteen."

Jake chased her down the hall and when he rounded the corner, jumped back into the hall, a bullet nearly hitting him. Jessica fled up a flight of stairs, Jake shooting up after her, blowing wood off the bannister and another hitting the wall above her.

"Eleven," Jessica said, cutting through a door on the second floor, dashing down the hall and breaking through the door at the end of the hall as Jake entered the hallway, two more rounds impacting the door frame. "Nine."

Shooting straight ahead, Jessica shattered the window in front of her and leaped across the alley to the fire escape on the opposite side. Jake reached the window Jessica shooting back across, hitting Jake in the arm then missing when he placed his back against the wall.

"Fuck!" Jake shouted, holding his arm, seeing it was more of a graze. Leaning into the window he fired back, sparks flying off the metal bars of the stairs, four rounds missing, one hitting Jessica in the same arm she hit Jake.

Jessica recoiled, hitting the brick wall of the buildings, before she kept climbing, holding her arm. "Fuck," Jessica said, climbing to the roof with her one good arm and holstering her gun, "Four."

Jake reached the roof as she reached the other side, him firing after her, missing as she leaped to the next fire escape. Jessica miscalculated her jump, ramming her body against the side of the escape instead of landing directly on it. As she climbed up, Jake landed on it.

Jessica punched with her good arm, Jake parrying and sliding around her into a headlock. Placing her foot on the bar, she pushed back, slamming Jake into the wall, then elbowing him in the head, breaking his grip. Jake swung, Jessica dodging then punching him on his gun shot wound. Jake rose to fire, her catching the gun, one round being squeezed off.

"Three," Jessica said, letting go with one hand and chopping his throat, making him shoot again, "two."

"Why are you counting?" Jake said, Jessica kneeing him the stomach twice before Jake charged forward and rammed her back into the bar. Jessica stripped his gun away and aimed at up, Jake slapping it away, the gunshot making his ears ring again. He grabbed her hand and hammered it against the rail, another round firing into the wall before she dropped it to the ground below them.

Jessica punched his arm again, then grabbed him by his neck and placed her back on the rail and pushed off the ground to roll off of it. She grabbed the back of his shirt, throwing him off the escape where he crashed to the ground on his back. Jessica rolled back, catching the escape, then dropped down to the ground.

Jake grunted, seeing his gun next to him, grabbed it, aimed and pulled the trigger, the gun clicking.

"Zero," Jessica said, pulling her out gun and aiming down, "Nice try."

Jake threw his gun, missing Jessica entirely, her following the gun with a laugh, only to watch it hit the escape ladder, that dislodged, slide down, and struck her in the head.


	5. Sunday Mass

Jessica with a large bruise on her face had insulted and played with her captures for hours, no one managing to get out a single valuable piece of information out her.

"I hate this bitch," Sherry said from the other side of the glass, watching Jessica play with her chains, flailing them up and down like tiny reins. Jake sat on a chair with his jacket off, a BSAA medic cleaning his arm and stitching it after Sherry convinced him to get it taken care of.

"You got beat up by a girl," Helena said with a laugh.

"She would mop the floor with you," Jake said, as the last stitch was placed, the medic covering it with gauze and wrapping it with tape.

"Who wants to go in there next? I'm two for two on interrogation room assassinations, I've had my fill," Sherry said, the door opening behind them, the room turning to see Chris Redfield.

"Let me take a crack at her," Chris said.

"Feel free, you know her better than any of us," Sherry said, Chris smiling and leaving the room then reappeared a moment later in the interrogation room.

"Chris Redfield, hubba hubba. I'm already cuffed if you want to take advantage of me," Jessica said with a grin, Chris not smiling as he sat across from her, "No play?"

"No play Jessica. You killed three BSAA agents with that car bomb. Who do you work for?" Chris asked.

"Free agent, since you took out TriCell. I'm my own woman now."

"Let's rephrase it. Who is paying you right now?" Chris asked.

"I haven't the fucking faintest idea, they pay me through an intermediary. Half now, half when complete. This wasn't even supposed to be my hit, I was only hired for the Moldova job. They thought my work there was sensational, so they asked me, through the intermediary, to finish the job here."

"Where was the pickup for the other half?" Chris asked.

"What other half, I missed," Jessica said.

"Through and through shot, you hit her," Chris said.

"She's fine, why is he saying that?" Helena asked.

"Because she doesn't know that," Sherry said, looking over at them, "Tell the BSAA to announce Catherine was killed. Move a decoy body out of the embassy. Let them believe it, we throw the bitch back out as bait."

"Got it," Helena said, leaving the room to find the BSAA commander on site.

"Where was the drop off?" Chris repeated.

"Cathedral of Lima, this Sunday during morning mass. I'm to be wearing a purple scarf, and sit behind a man wearing a yellow scarf. This is the important part. If I sit behind his right shoulder, that means I'm in duress and I think I've been followed, no exchange happens. If I sit to his left, I'm in the clear, the exchange happens."

"What happens if you don't show up?" Chris asks.

"They assume I've been captured. It's a different person every time. They don't know what I look like, just that I'm blond," Jessica said, playing with her hair.

Chris ended the conversation there and exited the room.

* * *

The BSAA announced Catherine Gonzalez was killed in the attack. In truth they placed a tarp over a body and moved it of the embassy very publicly, while Catherine was safely held in the embassy.

They gave Sherry a purple scarf in the back of a van on Sunday. They fitted her with a wire, Sherry lifting her shirt while Helena tapped it to her body.

Jessica could not be trusted to be thrown out as bait. They only knew she would be a blond with a purple scarf.

"I just had to be blond," Sherry said into the mic to test it.

"Jessica is actually a brunet," Chris said.

"I hate her more now," Sherry said as Helena opened the door for Sherry who jumped out and blended in with the church goers for mass.

"Everyone check in," Chris said, all of the teams stating their status as ready, "Sherry, right is duress, man in a yellow scarf. Sit to his left."

"I know," Sherry said, entering the church and searching for the yellow scarf. It was on the forth pew from the front near the far end, "Target found. Black hair, dark complexion."

"Got him," a BSAA operative said, on the pews on the right side.

"No movement until Sherry positively identifies the drop happened. Code word is Sapphire."

Sherry took the seat behind the man in the yellow scarf to his left side and waited for something to happened. He slightly looked over his shoulder, then back, sliding a black bag around his seat and into Sherry's row.

"It's all there," the man said.

"It better be," Sherry said, trying her best to say something Jessica would. It felt so forced on her part.

The man pretended to scratch his ear, but Sherry saw a subtle earpiece the same tone as his skin color. Someone was talking to him. As mass was about to begin, he turned around to face her.

"Check it, then go," he said, Sherry leaning down, then opening to bag to see the money.

"Looks good," Sherry said, when she pulled her head up, was sprayed in the face from an aerosol can, Sherry breathing in a white cloud of smoke that knocked her unconscious.

"Ruby," The BSAA agent in the church said, as the man fired his gun into the ceiling, the entire church panicking and blocking his line of sight, "Lost visual."

"All teams move in!" Chris shouted, jumping from the bench outside and charging through the crowd of people blocking him.

Jake barging in from the side door, but was also blocked by a current of bodies.

When the BSAA agent regained visual, the man had Sherry over his shoulder and was calmly moving to the back. He ran passed the alter as the man opened the door to the back.

"Don't move!" the BSAA agent shouted, but was shot in the back by a second assailant who departed out the same door.

Chris and Jake both managed to fight their way through, but couldn't see them.

"Targets, moving out the back," the BSAA agent said painfully.

"Let's go," Jake shouted, running passed the alter and outside where he said Sherry being placed into the back of van. Before he could move, three men opened fire on him, making him duck back. Jake fired back, hitting one as the others closed the doors and drove off, leaving him behind.

Jake charged and rammed his shoulder into the man to knock him over, then placing his foot on the man's chest and aimed his gun down at him, "Where are they taking her!"

The man replied with snarls and growls, Jake seeing several eyes and mutations. He was a j'avo.

Jake fired into his face, knowing talking to him was useless. Chris arrived, seeing the mans body turn to ash.

"White van, no plates, j'avo goons," Jake said, Chris placing his finger to his ear.

"White van traveling south…" Chris said, hoping someone could intercept them. They found the van a half hour later abandoned with Sherry's wire, them having traded vehicles, effectively losing the BSAA with Sherry in their custody.

* * *

Chris slammed his fist into the bars of the cell where Jessica was soundly sleeping, waking her up. Jessica rolled to her side and saw Chris, releasing a giggle before rolling back over.

"Left was duress!" Chris shouted, Jessica rolling back over with a grin.

"No it wasn't, if they thought it was duress, nothing would have happened," Jessica said, Chris sliding his hands down the bars, knowing she had a point. Something went wrong, and they still didn't know what or why.

"Why were they going to kidnap you then. They took our agent that they thought was you," Chris said, Jessica standing up and walking to the bars, but out of arm reach from Chris.

"I'm a disposable no one to them. I'm expendable. You of all people should know that Chris Deadfield. How many graves have you filled with your teammates?" Jessica asked, Chris reaching to grab her, but she stood less than an inch from his furthest extending finger.

"Touched a nerve?" Jessica said, the stepped away and sat down.

"Where are they taking her?" Chris asked.

"Why would I know?" Jessica asked, "I've seen compartmentalization, but nothing like this. You're talking about a group that highjacked the largest anti-bioterrorism organization on the planet, and used it as their personal slush fund, and no one noticed for years. Wrap your mind around that for a second," Jessica said, twirling her finger around her ear.

"Why did they take her?" Chris asked.

"Who did you send out there? Did you throw a wig on resting bitch face, or did you stick a hook on Big Tits McGee and cast her out to the sharks? Here's the thing, if you're fucking with bioterrorist with this much organizational might, and cloak and dagger so dark it makes me wet, you might not want to throw out Sherry Birkin."

"How do you…"

"Remember Chris, I only pretended to be a rookie," Jessica said, walking over to bars again, and leaned against them, "You used Sherry Birkin, you fucking idiot. Why don't you just throw Wesker junior out there? Sure as shit would have made Project Legacy go faster. Would have at least made it more fun."

"What is Project Legacy?" Chris asked.

"Oops," Jessica with a cute smile, Chris grabbing her shirt and pulling her head into the bar.

"What is it?"

"I don't know, it's something that's been floating around since Neo-Umbrella. I'm surprised the BSAA hasn't heard of it," Jessica said, Chris letting her go, and walking away from the cell. "Come on Chris, you can't blue ball a girl like that, it was just getting good," Jessica taunted as the door closed.


	6. Dr Alvin Westerfield

The task force was thrown into a frenzy when Sherry was captured. No one had any information on where she was being taken, or why she was taken in the first place. The best assumption they had, was that the organization recognized her, and kidnapped her out of opportunity. The only shred of evidence they had to work from, was two words; _Project Legacy_.

"Tell me you guys have something?" Leon asked as he walked into the analyst room where Preston and Hunnigan were surrounded by mountains of intelligence documents they had printed out since the operation began.

"There are no direct results for anything like Project Legacy found on the cargo ship. There is a report filed by the BSAA in 2014, talking about a Project Legacy, but nothing ever came of it, so it was ruled innocuous," Preston explained, and Leon wasn't satisfied.

"Why wasn't this ever brought up?" Leon asked.

"It wasn't related until now. A report from years ago, never mentioned again," Hunnigan said to calm him, Leon pacing the office to vent his frustration.

"Anything now, now that there may be a connection?" Leon asked.

"I broadened the search, and a few documents came up from the evidence on the My Lady Margarete. A few research papers used the word legacy. Sourced with the paper in the citations were results of what was referred to as phase one. Digging through all of the shell companies, we found payments from a fertility clinic in Maryland. Suddenly the picture of a baby is coming into focus," Preston said, Leon grabbing his collar and pushing him into a desk.

"Part of this investigation, was literally down the fucking street and you didn't want to bring that up!?" Leon said, Hunnigan pulling him away and standing between them.

"We were focusing on the cash drops and none of them happened in the United States. These transactions are over a year old, and then ceased," Hunnigan said, Preston fixing his collar.

"On the cargo ship, we found previous manifests from past shipments. One held cryoprotectants, specifically the ones used for preservation of sperm and eggs. A few months after that delivery, a woman named Chloe Lautenberg started receiving a nine thousand dollar payment, every month for nine months," Preston said.

"Why?" Leon asked.

"Why else would a fertility clinic pay a woman for nine months?"

"They probably killed her after, these aren't the kinds of people who leave witnesses," Leon said, Hunnigan walking over to her desk and handing Leon the information they had on her.

"She lives in Virginia, alive and well," Hunnigan said, Leon taking the file and reading it, "Sometimes the smartest and quietest thing to do, is just pay people."

* * *

Sherry woke up with a bright white light directly above her. Squinting, she attempted to block the light with her hands, only to discover they were bound by straps, as were her feet. Struggling for a moment, her eyes darted across the room to determine where she was. It looked like a lab of some kind, with medical equipment, and a tray with scalpels and syringes next to her.

"Good evening Ms. Birkin," A male voice said, Sherry trying to look over her shoulder, but couldn't see him. A man was washing his hands in a sink, slowly and methodically, before drying them on a towel then pulling a pair of latex gloves on his hands. Sherry could hear his footsteps, until she could see him in her peripheral.

"Who are you?" Sherry asked, the man entering her full vision, readying a syringe from the tray.

"My name is Dr. Alvin Westerfield," Alvin said, his face obscured by a surgeon mask. He had a cleanly shaven bald head, and the mask focused her gaze to his hazel eyes.

"Who are you?" Sherry repeated.

"I just stated who I was, my answer isn't going to change," Alvin said.

"What are you going to do to me?" Sherry asked.

"See what makes you tic," Alvin said, filling a syringe with a clear fluid. Sherry recoiled away from the needle, but it penetrated her neck, making her whimper as he pushed the plunger.

"What is that?" Sherry asked.

"A paralyzing agent, I need you compliant, but conscious. I need your adrenal gland pumping at all cylinders," He said, as Sherry tried to move her hand, but couldn't. Her entire body felt tingly, and when she tried to speak, she couldn't.

"I'm terribly sorry, this agent doesn't actually numb you. This will hurt," Alvin said, as a needle from under the table entered through a hole in the table, penetrating her spine and extracting fluid. Sherry tried to scream but couldn't, even though she couldn't move her face, tears began to stream down her cheeks.

* * *

Leon sat on a table as Chloe Lautenberg searched for a second cup to serve Leon coffee from the pot she made prior to his arrival. She placed it on the table in front of him, Leon thanking her then taking a sip.

"I've never heard of the DSO," Chloe said, Leon smiling politely.

"We're a special investigative arm of the Secret Service," Leon said, Chloe making a surprised face.

Chloe was a woman in her mid-twenties with chestnut brown hair and a cute oval face. She was very fit with a tight compacted body structure. Everything in her home suggested fitness and health, from the random exercise equipment in the living room, the health and fitness magazines on her coffee table, to the organic coffee she served him.

"You said you needed to ask me some questions regarding an investigation. I really do hope I can help," Chloe said, almost appearing eager to assist.

"I'm actually here to ask you about when you became a surrogate mother," Leon asked, this catching Chloe off guard.

"I didn't know that was illegal…"

"It isn't, and you're not under investigation…"

"I really needed the money…"

"I'm not here about the money Chloe," Leon said, Chloe remaining quiet, her coffee cup trembling in her hand. Leon reached across the table, placing his hand on hers to relax her, "You are not in any trouble."

Chloe took a deep breath, nodding, her hand becoming stable, and Leon pulling his back.

"Who hired you?" Leon asked.

"A clinic in Maryland was looking for healthy women to be a surrogate for a couple. Jack and Monica Thompson. I met them, they were wonderful, and nice, and just not lucky. Her eggs were healthy, but she had miscarried five times. I can't even imagine that."

"What was the name of the fertility clinic?" Leon asked, Chloe leaving the table and opening a drawer in the kitchen. She handed him their card. 'Paulson and Nichols Fertility Solutions'.

"The doctors were nice, professional. The Thompson's paid for all of my medical expenses, and I had their baby girl nine months later," Chloe said, Leon still looking at the card. "Is any of this helpful?"

"Very," Leon said, looking back up, "What did the doctors look like?"

"Dr. Paulson was middle aged, maybe early fifties. Full grey head of hair, but not balding. Dr. Nichols was a woman, younger than him, maybe thirties, hard to tell with women sometimes, and not like we'd give you a straight answer," Chloe said with a laugh that Leon shared in.

"Are the doctors in some kind of trouble? Or the Thompson's?" Chloe asked.

"What about the Thompsons?" Leon asked, ignoring the question.

"Late twenties, clean and polite. Black hair, both of them," Chloe answered.

"Thank you for speaking with me," Leon said, standing to leave but not before finishing his coffee.

"I hope I was of help."

"You were, thank you," Leon said, shaking her hand and leaving her his information if she remembered anything else.

Sitting in his car, Leon called Hunnigan as he drove, getting her up to speed with what he learned.

"I'm heading to the clinic now," Leon said, hanging up the phone and starting his drive to Maryland.

As Leon drove to the fertility clinic, Hunnigan called him back when he was twenty minutes out according to his GPS. Leon pressed answer on his steering wheel, talking with Hunnigan on speaker.

"From the property records we've managed to dig up, this building has gone through a few hands over the years, but nothing suspicious. Bad investments and small business foreclosures. The fertility clinic was the last owners before they vacated. No one is there, but the lot is still owned by a shell company, pre paying the lease for a year."

"It's vacant?" Leon asked.

"As of four months ago," Hunnigan clarified.

"You get any information on the doctors?"

"Nothing, they were using aliases, but we did thankfully get a judge to gave us a warrant to search the building," Hunnigan explained.

"Can I get a schematic of the building?" Leon asked, a moment later his phone chiming, "Got it."

"I don't expect much of the property to still be there, but look for anything and everything. I've sent a team to sweep after you," Hunnigan said.

"I'll make sure the building's clear first," Leon said, hanging up as he continued to drive until he pulled into a parking lot.

It was already dark, the only thing illuminating the parking lot was a single street light he parked underneath. It was a small single-story structure, seemingly isolated from any other buildings. On a sign on the front of the driveway it had the name of the clinic, and another was above the front door. The windows of the building were blocked by plywood, and the door was chained shut with a heavy lock.

The door wasn't really an option, so Leon walked to the nearest widow. Picking up a large rock from the ground, he smashed the glass, knocking away the remaining pieces with his flashlight. Taking a step back, he rammed the plywood with his foot, partially dislodging the nails on the bottom. Pushing the top, it gave way and fell into the building, allowing Leon to enter.

Pulling his ear piece from his pocket, he placed it into his ear and checked in.

"Hunnigan, I'm entering the building on the east side," Leon said, Hunnigan confirming.

Stepping over the bottom of the window, he shined the light to the floor to avoid the nails from the plywood, and examined the immediate room. It was a waiting room, with chairs lining the wall, a small table in the center with magazines still on it. On the wall was a shelf with brochures containing services offered and random factoids about fertility.

"Looks like a private practice so far," Leon said, pulling a brochure from the shelf, slipping it into his back pocket before moving passed the waiting room and the reception desk. There was still a computer monitor present, but no computer. Cobwebs were attached to the bottom of the monitor and the top of the desk.

To the left of the desk on the opposite side of the room were restrooms, and to the immediate right of the desk closer to the waiting room was a swinging door with a sign that read 'The Doctor Will See You Now'. Pushing the door open, he slowly shined the light into the next room, entering a hallway with four rooms. Two were examination rooms, one was a procedure room, and the last was the office. He shined a light in all of them, the only remaining equipment being the examination tables and a few chairs. The cabinets in the rooms were left open and empty.

Making his way to the end of the hall, Leon entered the office, to see two desks without computers, a few miscellaneous papers and hanging frames with the medical licenses displayed. Dr. Quentin Paulson, graduate of John Hopkins, and Dr. Allison Nichols, graduate of Tufts University School of Medicine. Leon took a picture of both.

"This place is empty," Leon said, shining the light around a little more.

"I just got some information on how much power is still going to that building. It's way too much for a vacancy," Hunnigan said.

Leon opened his phone and pulled up the schematics to the structure. Looking at the dimensions in the room, Leon looked around the room, and thought it looked a little small compared to what the schematic indicated.

"A quarter of this room is missing," Leon said, seeing the wall furthest back was four feet too close to the door, "Might be a false wall."

"The team is five minutes out, wait for them," Hunnigan said, Leon ignoring her and knocking on the wall. Knocking on the adjacent well, they didn't sound the same.

"Definitely a false wall," Leon said feeling it for a switch or something to open it.

Searching the desks, he tried sliding Paulson's only for one leg of the desk to only move slightly, like something was holding it in place. Picking the leg up, he saw a wire feeding from the bottom of the leg, under the floor and toward the wall. Dropping it, Leon opened drawers, seeing nothing but left behind pens and wrappers. Knocking on the bottom of the drawer, it didn't sound like a false bottom. Pulling the drawer all of the way out, he felt the wire pulling on the back side of the drawer. Turing the drawer upside down, he saw a button, so pressed it.

To portions of the wall of the pushed out, then split in half, sliding left and right, opening to reveal a computer terminal.

"Jackpot, found a computer," Leon said, stepping over to it. Pressing a key, it hummed to life, but when the screen turned on, it was frozen and cracked. Streaks of black ran along the cracks, hiding some of the text on the screen. Taking picture with his phone, Leon looked carefully words he could make out.

'Project L-cy phase two succe-l.'

'Spec-n tran-rd to -ield.'

'Liquidation of -nic auth-zed'

"The computer is frozen, but the last thing on the screen is still present, but it's illegible because the screen is cracked. I'm forwarding you the picture," Leon said, hitting send with his phone.

"Is there anything to plug into it with?" Hunnigan asked, Leon looking around the bottom and sides, seeing a USB port to the left of the key board. Leon opened a case from his belt and removed the USB adapter from it, plugging one end into his phone and the other into the system.

"Trying to send a reboot command," Hunnigan said, the computer going dark then illuminating back a moment later. It went through a briefing loading phase, before a prompt came onto the screen.

'Pass-?' was all he could read.

"Can you get around the password?" Leon asked.

"I'll try," Hunnigan said, and a few seconds later a new window appeared.

'Unaut-ed Remote Acc-s Detect-'

"Security is pretty good on this thing," Hunnigan said, as text appeared below it.

'Init-ing Scor- Eart- Protect-'

Just below Leon saw a red two appear. After ten seconds it turned into a one. It took Leon two more seconds to realize it was a countdown.

"Shit!" Leon shouted, leaving his phone dangling in the port and taking off down the hall. Before he was halfway down the hall the team was approaching him, shocking to see him running toward them.

"Get out!" Leon shouting, the team not taking any time to ask why and turned around, running back the way they came. The team had breached the door, allowing Leon to run outside and behind one the vehicles that had arrived after him.

Five seconds later an explosion erupted from the windows and out the door, the concussion shattering the light above his car, raining glass on top of it. The windows of the cars broke, glass falling on Leon and the others.

Standing up, Leon saw the structure was still standing, but ablaze.

"Hopefully she got something before we lost connection."


	7. The Gallery

Preston read the information on the paper on the desk below him slowly. He struggled to keep his head up, falling asleep for a brief moment, the motion of his head falling snapping him awake before his face crashed to the desk.

"Get some sleep," Hunnigan said from the door.

"I'm fine," Preston said, rubbing his eyes, "I stayed up longer during Lanshiang."

"A tired analyst is a sloppy analyst, I have a room of sober analysts hungry for work. Sandra," Hunnigan said, leaning out of the room to call one of her analysts.

"Yes ma'am," Sandra said.

"Have Mr. Reynolds inform you on where he is, so he can hand it off to you," Hunnigan said, Preston sighing.

"I'm fine," Preston repeated.

"No matter how much he complains, make him get some sleep," Hunnigan said, Preston finally relenting and stepping away from his desk. Preston went to Hunnigan's office and rested on her couch, closing his eyes and falling asleep in only a minute.

Hunnigan let him sleep for five hours before he woke up on his own, preparing a cup of coffee and asking for a situation update.

"Dr. Alvin Westerfield," Hunnigan said to start the conversation.

"Who?"

"Dr. Alvin Westerfield is an endocrinologist and virologist. U.S. national, though he lives and operates his business and research in Columbia."

"Why are we talking about him?" Leon asked, Preston looking over and seeing him throw his jacket on the chair, "Anything to do with why I had to run out of a building about to explode?"

"Dr. Westerfield paid for the clinic in Maryland, at least as an initial investor," Hunnigan said, Preston sipping his coffee, waiting to hear more. "The clinic, purchased egg and sperm samples from a group formerly financed by Glenn Arias."

"Silver Dagger took care of him," Preston said.

"I was there too dipshit," Leon said, Hunnigan looking at Leon and saw he was gradually getting more annoyed that no progress had been made in finding Sherry. Preston seemingly bragging about the BSAA taking someone down wasn't helping.

"Does Westerfield have anything to do with who has Sherry?"

"We don't know, it's all speculation until we investigate him," Hunnigan said, Leon kicking a chair, Hunnigan immediately moving to calm him down.

"He's the only named suspect we have, and he's in Columbia. We did more research on him as well, managing to pull up his employees. His head of security is a former revolutionary insurgent against the Columbian government named Javier Gutierrez. A few years ago, the Columbian government passed reconciliation, allowing immunity for former insurgents to rejoin society."

"What group was he part of?" Leon asked.

"Restos De La Verdad, or the Remnants of Truth. Formed after Raccoon City, believing governments sanctioned or ignored threats of corporations researching biological weapons," Hunnigan replied.

"The Remnants? Didn't they try to assassinate the President of Columbia in Bangkok last year during a summit?" Leon asked.

"Set off a C-Virus aerosol bomb, killed about two hundred people, BSAA response prevented it from getting worse, no world leader was killed, stopped it from going international incident," Preston said.

"If Westerfield has a direct connection to a terrorist group, why is he only on our radar now?" Leon asked.

"Gutierrez didn't join his employment until four months ago. He defected, disgusted that the Remnants used BOWs in an attack, especially against civilians," Hunnigan said, Leon wondering on how true that was or not. For all intent and purposes, he was clear as far as the Columbian government was concerned.

"What now?" Leon asked.

"Helena and Jake are meeting with a BSAA contact in Columbia to look into Westerfield," Hunnigan answered, Leon now extremely irritated he wasn't out there.

"What if that is another dead end?" Leon asked.

Hunnigan pulled a folder off her desk and opened it, showing him the analysis of the information Leon managed to pull from the clinic. The picture of the broken screen was present, with the analyst's best assumption of what it said.

'Project Legacy Phase Two Successful'

'Specimen Transferred to Westerfield.'

* * *

Jake and Helena flew a small plane from Peru into Columbia a week after Sherry was kidnapped. Their BSAA team didn't join them because a BSAA operative was already present in Tumaco, Columbia training local police on BOW tactics. When they arrived, they rented a jeep and began driving to the training location.

"What's the name of this guy?" Jake asked as he drove, following the GPS while Helena pulled up information on their contact with the BSAA for Columbia.

"Carlos Oliveira," Helena said, scrolling down on his resume, "Damn, used to be a member of UBCS, how did he get into the BSAA with that rap sheet?"

"We have a former BSAA operative in custody right now, is that really a leap?" Jake asked.

"Umbrella left him for dead in Raccoon City, his information helped put a lot of people in jail. Led to the destruction of the UBCS, but his skill set as a bioweapon cleaner was valuable when it became a more prolific issue. BSAA snatched him up not too long after it was created. He's not the only one with sketchy former employment."

"Why do we need him exactly?" Jake asked.

"BSAA has more jurisdictional leeway than the DSO does. You have zero," Helena clarified.

"We're here," Jake said, the vehicle pulling up to a gate manned with armed guards. Helena handed him her ID, the guard nodding and opening the gate for them. As they drove down the road, they could hear gunfire. The rounds were fired in repetition, indicating a target range.

Parking the Jeep, Jake and Helena exited the vehicle and walked toward the sound of gunfire. It seized after a moment, a voice over a loud speaker saying in Spanish to cease fire.

At the end of the driveway was the training area. To their left were ranges with pop up targets, for both pistol and rifle, with pistol currently being the focus of training. To the right were shoot houses where they were trained on breaching, clearing, and close quarters. Straight ahead were bleachers with ten levels, where men and women were sitting, watching an instructor speak to them with a few demonstrators.

Jake and Helena approached and stood to the side, auditing the class, Jake translating for Helena.

"This is the formation," the instructor said, the only one with a BSAA patch on his shoulder for the South American Division. On his opposite shoulder was the name _Oliveira._ The man had tanned skin, long dark hair and a tall thin build. He spoke with a tone of extreme confidence, but absent of condescension.

"The reverse arrowhead," Carlos said, the formation front facing direction was a V with the team leader at the point, with two people at rear security.

"Why do we have the shotguns at the front?" He asked.

"Stopping power," an officer said, Carlos nodding.

"Trigger discipline is crucial, the obvious concern of this formation is fratricide," Carlos said, Jake substituted fratricide with, ' _Shooting your friend like a dick_.'

"It's a containment formation, this is if you're overwhelmed. Draw the BOWs to the funnel, shotguns keep them off the flanks," Carlo's explained, turning to see Jake and Helena, "Go over breaching procedure again, take it you're Muller and Harper?"

"DSO agent Harper, Jake Muller…contractor," Helena said, Jake holding back a laugh as they all shook hands, "Reading over your resume, gotta say, it's interesting."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Oliveira said with a smile, "DSO, do you work with agent Kennedy?"

"I do," Helena said as Carlo's led them away from the bleachers, "Do all you Raccoon City survivors know each other?"

"We have annual get togethers," Carlos joked with a smile, "From my understanding, I'm escorting you to meet with someone?"

"We need BSAA support to speak with a Dr. Alvin Westerfield in the city," Helena said, Carlos making a face indicating he knew him, "You know him?"

"He supplies local police with vaccines and counter biological medical supplies. When the C-Virus vaccine was in mass production, Western Fields Biotechnologies was one of the companies licensed to produce it," Carlos said.

"We have some intelligence saying he might be a little shady, at least as far as where he gets his inventory from," Helena said.

"Nothing would surprise me. When are we going?

"Tomorrow morning," Helena answered, Carlos nodding, then excusing himself to continue his instruction.

* * *

Helena stayed in the car while Jake and Carlos entered the front doors of Western Fields Biotechnologies. Above their heads on the door was the company's logo, a field of wheat blowing in the wind with an orange sun setting in the horizon. The building itself was five stories high with a cylindrical glass structure. The western edge of the building facing the west, would show the reflection of the western setting sun. It looked like any other building in the industrial area near the port. It was hard to imagine just a few miles away from this affluent district was destitute poverty.

Carlos wore a suit and tie, intent on representing the BSAA with as much dignity as possible. Also he never had the opportunity to dress up, and liked looking suave when he could. His long hair was slicked over his head and held firm with gel, and Jake could smell his cologne.

The reception area was a long desk with a single young lady wearing a headset to answer the phone and a computer screen to the right, but below the desk so no one in front of it could read it. She looked up as they approached, standing up to greet them, speaking in fluent unaccented English.

"Welcome to Western Fields Biotechnologies gentlemen. My name is Carry, how may I help you?" Carry asked politely, placing one hand on the other in front of her body.

"I am Carlo's Oliveira from the BSAA, this is my associate Jake Muller. I was told our visit was expected," Carlos said, Carry nodding and gesturing toward the elevators.

"The elevator will take you to the second floor, where our public relations officer will take you on a tour of the facility. Have a lovely day," Carry said, speaking into her microphone that the two of them were about to come up.

"You too," Carlos said, leading the way to the elevators where the only option was the second floor.

"Eyes and ears," Jake said as the doors closed, leaning against the wall before the elevator rose to the second floor. When the door opened they were greeting by another woman, a few years older than the last in a skirt and blouse, with a jacket and heels.

"Welcome gentlemen," She said, again with fluent unaccented English, "I am Rose, and I will be your tour guide."

"Thank you very much, please lead the way," Carlos said politely, Rose stepping and the two of them following.

The first floor was administrative, which is why it wasn't part of the tour. The second floor was medicine and vaccination research. Dozens of doctors examined samples, and were testing new techniques and procedures.

"Following the incident in China, Western Fields was one of a handful of companies licensed for the mass production of the C-Virus vaccine. We also supply vaccines for three variants of the T-Virus, and have done extensive research that allows for a higher chance of a full recovery at various stages of infection. We have a forty percent survival rate for infection up to twenty-four hours after initial infection. May not sound that high, but just a few years ago that was virtually zero."

The third floor was for post infection research, which held cadavers of permanently deceased victim of many bio terrorism events. They were informed they had one specimen on site. This was the only floor that had armed security to deal with the specimen in the extremely unlikely event it got out.

"We've been conducting research on reversing the effects of some infections. T-Virus and the C-Virus that delivers by aerosol, those kill the host outright, so we have no solution for that. Other infections, Las Plagas for instance, doesn't actually kill the host. We have managed to remove a fully mature Las Plagas parasite, though the procedure causes paralysis from the waist down. The parasite attaches itself to the spine and the nervous system."

The forth floor was recycling and water purification. Nearly all materials in the facility were reused, and all the water from the building was purified and recirculated back.

"We have our own water and energy supply. All waste is purified and reused. With the exception of hazardous waste, we have an entirely different facility for that."

The fifth floor was the executive offices, and the private laboratory of the Dr. Alvin Westerfield. When they departed the elevator, Rose pointed them to his office, and disappeared behind the elevator doors.

"Another facility?" Jake asked Carlos.

"We'll call that up, make sure our guys know to look for it," Carlos said then led the way to Dr. Alvin Westerfield's office. The entire left wall of his office was a coastal view curving with the shape of the building. His windows transition glass that was darker from the sun beating on them. Straight ahead from the door was a large flat desk with nothing on it, the entire surface of the top being his computer with a touch screen monitor. To the right was a large dry erase board with notes neither Jake or Carlos could make heads or tails of. On the far end of the right wall was a metal door that opened, and shut behind a man who exited.

Dr. Alvin Westerfield was revealed as tall and muscular when he draped his lab coat on a hanger next to the wall. His head was fully shaven bald, making his muscular form more apparent. His face was cleanly shaven, the light of the room reflecting off his skin. His charismatic hazel eyes drove people to him, intensified by his white teeth when he smiled. All Jake saw was the most punchable face he had ever seen.

"Welcome, agent Oliveira I presume?" Alvin said, walking over and shaking his hand, "Who is this with you?"

"Jake Muller, he's a contractor working with the BSAA," Carlos said, Alvin extending his hand for a shake, Jake pausing for a few seconds before taking his hand, Alvin's smile making his opposite hand clench. Something about him didn't sit well. Well groomed men in his experience were hiding their true intent.

"Pleasure to meet you, Jake Muller," Alvin said, releasing his hand and walking toward his desk, "May I offer you a beverage?"

"No thank you, if it is fine by you, I'd like to get to the reason of our visit," Carlos said.

"Absolutely."

"Do you have any relationship to a fertility clinic in Maryland, in the United States?" Carlos asked.

"I invested in the company a few years ago. I was told it failed, so a bad investment at that. I invested under the stipulation they compile data for my own research. By trade I am primarily an endocrinologist, so I asked them to track hormonal levels at all stages of pregnancy, to see if there was any difference between natural conception and surrogacy hormonal levels."

"What did the research yield?" Carlos asked.

"The practice collapsed before a sufficient amount of data was collected," Alvin answered.

"I see. Did the clinic ever send you equipment, specimens?" Carlos asked.

"I purchased some, yes. Miscarried fetuses. I can provide documentation for the initial investment, the contract for data, and the fetuses if you'd like," Alvin said, Carlos saying he would like those, Alvin pressing a button on his computer, requesting the documents with his assistant.

"Can I assist you further?" Alvin asked.

"I have more of a curiosity than a question," Jake said, Alvin looking over at him, "What are you personally working on right now?"

"It's very exciting, a true breakthrough," Alvin said, pressing a few buttons on his screen and a projector dropped from his ceiling and shined on his white board where a white screen was also falling.

"We may have reversed the C-Virus cocoon," Alvin said, typing more, and a projection of a C-Virus full transformation on the screen.

"Reversed?" Jake asked.

"Yes. The C-Virus cocoon essentially seals the body in a cocoon, rapidly reshapes it, and emerges as something else. The creation of BOWs from this method was actually only a byproduct from what it was initially intended to achieve which is best summarized as crude cloning. It was once successfully used to genetically change one person into someone else. So why couldn't it change someone back?"

"Is that really reversing it?" Carlos asked.

"Technically, no," Alvin said, then typed a little to show a C-Virus mutation of a man, "If you are able to positively identify who it once was, you can cause a second mutation and cocoon that will hatch as the original person," Alvin explained, clicking through the pictures to show that the man was brought back.

"What is the memory like when they return?" Jake asked.

"Rudimentary and scattered. Language and cognitive skills are similar to traumatic amnesia. This man behaved more on instinct than memory, but my last update I receive on his reintegration was that he was adjusting back into his life well."

"That's amazing," Carlos said, truly impressed by the accomplishment.

"If you have no further questions, I'm afraid I must resume my work," Alvin said, Carlos ending the meeting and shaking his hand again, Jake hovering as much as last time, "Great to meet you as well, Mr. Muller."

Carlos and Jake entered the elevator to return to the lobby, Alvin Westerfield watching from his office on the security camera. Typing on his desk, he placed a call and said, "Follow them. I don't care for the BSAA agent, Jake Muller I want alive."

Jake sat in the passenger seat, Helena starting the car as Carlos his door. Looking back at the building, Carlos asked, "Think he'll take the bait?"

"See that car peaking around the corner?" Helena asked, Carlos looking through his peripheral to see a black SUV parked at the intersection, staged to follow them, "He took the bait."

* * *

It was Sherry's worst nightmare again. Shots in the morning, blood drawn in the afternoon, experiments before bed. To prevent her from escape, every time they moved her, they paralyzed her with the same drug that would incapacitate her, but not numb her. Sherry felt every fiber of pain and embarrassment, because when the day called for it, the doctor was examining parts of her she'd kill him for later.

After the first week of captivity, Sherry noticed she could still move her fingers. A day later she could rotate her wrist. As smart as these scientists appeared, they didn't take into consideration her body building a tolerance, and they were not adjusting her dosage. By the end of the second week, it didn't paralyze her at all.

Sherry had adequate time to examine her surroundings. Very clean with white floors that reflected the lights of the lab. Security cameras at every corner and intersection. They only took her to two rooms; where she slept and the operating room, but she was led passed five additional rooms. Keycard locks, which some keys have more access to rooms than others. If anyone had the key to all of the rooms, it would be Dr. Alvin Westerfield, he seemed to be the one in charge.

Westerfield hadn't returned to the lab since Sherry's body's tolerance to the drug was strong enough to fight it entirely, so she didn't act. She just tried her hardest to remain still.

Finally the doctor entered her room flanked on both sides by security with the syringe she was already used to. It was a single room with only a bed and toilet, white and clean like the rest of the lab. Her clothes were also white, but at least they provided more modesty than her attire while in China which was essentially only a paper gown. At least they gave her pants.

"Would you like a roommate?" Westerfield asked.

"What?" Sherry asked.

"A roommate, I have acquired the second half of my puzzle. Jake Muller will be joining us soon. My men have already seized him. I'm aware you're familiar with each other," Westerfield said, nodding to the who injected a struggling Sherry, then stuck her in a wheel chair as they did every day.

Westerfield led the men who pushed Sherry on the chair, stopping at the lab door, and pulling out his key card to open it. The second it moved from his pocket, Sherry lunged from the chair and grabbed one of the guards guns, shooting him straight up through his chin, then turned and shot the second in the face. Sherry pistol slapped Westerfield into the wall and pulled him key card from him.

"You'll never get out," Westerfield said with a smile as Sherry walked backwards with the gun up. She crouched to secure the gun from the second guard, taking the ammo clip from the weapon and clearing the one round in the chamber.

"Watch me," Sherry said, shooting him in the leg and taking off down the hall as Westerfield fell to the ground.

Sherry turned at the end of the hall, hearing the sounds of footsteps approaching in front of her. Turning around, she shot the camera out on both corners, then used Westerfields keycard to open both doors that were opposite from each other and entered the one on the left. Security likely saw her take his keycard, and knew which doors he had opened.

Sherry closed the door, placing her back against the wall, waiting for it to open, but the footsteps ran straight passed. Taking a breath, Sherry looked around the room and saw toys on the ground, a computer in the corner, a diaper changing table and a crib.

"What the?" Sherry asked, slowly stepping over to the crib and looking in to see a baby girl looking back up at her. She giggled and extended her arms out to greet her, as if asking to be picked up, "These monsters."

Sherry slide the gun into the back of her waist and picked up the baby from the crib, carrying it with her to the computer, sitting her on her lap as she typed into the system. It was recently used and hadn't locked, granting Sherry access to the information on the screen. It was an empty screen except for one folder that was titled _Project Legacy_.

Double clicking on the folder, there was a serious of other folders labeled _concept, creation,_ and independent files for months one through thirteen, indicating the baby's age. Looking at the girl on her lap, she was blond like Sherry, with shiny hair that was very long for a child her age. Her eyes reminded her of someone, but she couldn't quite make them out. Looking back up at the screen, she clicked _concept._

' _Project Legacy is established with material acquired from inventory that escaped prior to the downfall of Neo-Umbrella. Including in those materials were reproductive cells from two incredible specimens._

' _A female who survived infection from the G-Embryo with no cosmetic or secondary mutations, but all of the benefits such as rapid cellular regeneration, abnormal strength for a man or woman, inhuman stamina, and significantly slower cellular decay, which is fascinating because G-Virus rapidly decays at the cellular level. The woman will probably live to be three hundred._

 _'A male with an exceedingly rare genetic abnormality that makes him immune to virtually any disease. While cosmetically he doesn't appear to have much muscle mass, his muscular density is unheard of. It would literally crush the bones of a normal human, which also implies his bone density is similarly abnormal. His cognitive faculties are likewise equally high, as the specimen was observed with heightened reflexes, quickly able to comprehend languages, and is believed to even have an eidetic memory.'_

Clicking creation, Sherry read on.

' _The clinic in Maryland successfully found a surrogate mother to have this baby, which will be created by artificial insemination of the reproductive samples taken from Neo-Umbrella. We have conducted additional research and discovered who these two individuals are. Sherry Birkin, and Jake Muller.'_

Sherry scrolled down and saw her picture, and then Jake's.

' _The baby was born, a girl which we named Claira.'_

"Claira," Sherry said, looking down at the baby who reached up and touched her face. Standing up from the desk, Sherry pressed her head into her chest and covered her other ear with her hand, then shoot the computer to pieces.

Claira began to cry, Sherry shushing her softly, before kissing her on her forehead, and calming her down.

"This won't be your life, even if I have to die, you won't have to live through this like I did," Sherry said, opening the door and looking both ways before turning a right and sprinting down the hall.

When Sherry reached the center of the next corridor, two armed guards rounded the corner. Sherry fired, making Claira scream, then used the keycard to enter the room to her left. When the door closed, Sherry saw a button that was labeled _manual lock_ and slammed her palm onto, the sound of metal clasping following.

Sherry could hear the guards scanning their cards, and buzzing sound indicating the room could be locked on the inside and not opened from the outside. Aiming at the door for an additional minute, Sherry lowered the gun and let out a deep exhale in relief, then realized she was trapped and not saved.

Turning around to see what room she was in, Sherry saw the room was over a hundred feet deep and thirty feet wide, a corridor formed between stasis chambers lined on the left and right. Walking the line, Sherry looked to the left and right, and realized these were the stasis chambers from the pictures Claire showed her that started this entire investigation. This was the lab.

In every stasis chamber was a person inflected by every bioterror event since Raccoon City, labeled by a small plague at the bottom of the chamber.

"Las Plagas, C-Virus, T-Abyss virus, T-Phobus," Sherry said to herself as she walked. At thirty feet deep, Sherry saw what appeared as a containment shelf with a computer system. Walking over, Sherry opened the computer, which requested authorization. Seeing a scanner next to the monitor, she scanned Westerfield's ID, which still worked and was granted access.

"The Gallery," Sherry said aloud, and read through the inventory. In the shelves were collected items, including delivery devises. When she scanned through the distribution devises, she saw a C-Virus needle and aerosol grenades. Clicking on both, the shelf hummed to life and two drawers slid open.

Sherry stepped to the shelves and saw they were functional. Looking at the door, Sherry nodded to herself. She placed Claira under the desk and pushed the chair in to protect her from her crazy plan. Jogging to the door, Sherry took a few fast breaths, before she released the lock and opened the door.

Pressing the button on the grenade she tossed it into the hallway, then pulled the pin on the smoke grenade and threw it down the wall toward the intersection. Before anyone could react, she sealed the door and locked it again.

Instantly screams of pain, gunfire, and horrid groans erupted from outside of the gallery. Sherry went back to the desk, sat on the ground and held Claire's ears to shield her from the terrible sounds.

* * *

Westerfield went to the surface entrance to his lab, a bullet shaped hole in the pants but not even a hobble in his step. A group of men ran passed him and boarded the elevator with breaching equipment to retrieve Sherry from the gallery.

Jake Muller had arrived, captured hours before and strapped to a table, adjusted to have him presented at a vertical position.

Next to Alvin was Javier Gutierrez, a tall tanned man, with a well-trimmed beard and mustache encircling his mouth. In public he wore suits, that displayed security, not business with a sidearm holstered under his shoulder. When doing the dirty work, he wore cargo khaki pants and a tight black long-sleeved shirt with an ammunition chest rack. His sidearm was strapped to his right thigh, with an Ak-47 strapped over his shoulder.

"Welcome Mr. Wesker," Alvin said with a grin, Jake staring back at him.

"It's Muller," Jake said.

"Of course. You'll be in good company here," Alvin said then stepped over to Javier and asked, "Is the situation under control down there?"

"She locked herself in the Gallery," Javier replied.

"So open the door," Alvin said.

"That room has a manual lock on the inside, she activated it. We're attempting to breach the door now, but I haven't heard any updates for ten minutes."

"He's not going anywhere, send half of his detail down and get it under control," Alvin ordered, Javier nodding before sending the elevator back up and having his men mobilize. When the doors opened at the top, three C-Virus infected were eating one of the guards who couldn't get out in time, while two hulking monsters turned to see people to kill.

"Holy shit! Open fire!"

The monsters charged out, knocking his men away, and one of the zombies lunging onto a downed body, chomping into his throat. Javier was thrown back, tipping Jake over, making him land on his side as a zombie saw him and began approaching.

"Oh shit," Jake said, beginning to struggle to break his binds. Seeing Javier unconscious next to him, he saw his sidearm on his leg and tried to reach for it. Jumping with his entire body, he shifted himself closer, managing to touch the pistol, but struggling to pull it from the holster.

The zombie fell onto Javier and opened its mouth to take a bite out of him, but Jake aligned the gun and fired with it still in the holster. The zombie collapsed to the ground, as a barrage of bullets erupted, dropped the rest of the BOWs. All of the surviving security surrendered and were handcuffed and lined on the floor face down, including Alvin Westerfield.

"You didn't really think we paraded him through your office because we were just that stupid?" Carlos asked Alvin on the ground, who groaned at Carlos' grin.

Jake was released from his binds by Helena who helped him up and handed him a gun. Jake checked the ammo while a team of BSAA agents donned masks to enter and clear the lab to find Sherry. Jake didn't put on a mask but stacked into the elevator as well.

"You need a mask," Agent said to him.

"He's immune to everything, he's fine," Helena said, her voice muffled from her mask.

The elevator arrived at in the lab, the leader using hand signals to send one team left and the other right. A thin purple haze permeated the air, and ten feet they had to cautiously step over a body. The lab was built in a loop, the two teams crossing paths in the middle of the back hall. They cleared the rooms, even finding a few survivors and evacuating them in handcuffs. They arrived at one room that didn't open.

"It's sealed from the inside, manual lock," the BSAA agent said after attempting to breach the security.

The cleaning team came down next and made the air breathable without protection, followed by a breach team to get through the only door they couldn't open. Setting the charges, they hugged the wall and detonated, the steel door slamming to the ground with a loud thud. Jake was third on the stack with Helena forth, the team seeing the chambers first, Jake seeing Sherry sitting against the wall with a baby in her arms.

"Sherry!" Jake shouted, sprinting across the room and dropping to his knees next to her. Jake looked at the baby, and noticed how protective Sherry was of her.

"Ma'am, please hand us the baby," the BSAA agent said, reaching for the baby, only for Sherry to point her gun directly into his face. Another agent raised his gun, but Helena forced it down.

"Stop," Helena said, Sherry lowering her gun as well. Jake removed his coat and slid it over Sherry's shoulders, then helped her to her feet.

"Let's get out of here," Jake said, walking with her out of the gallery. Helena holstered her weapon and looked at the specimens, walking to the center of the room to examine the rows.

"Hunnigan," Helena said into her phone after calling her, "We got Sherry, and we found the lab from the pictures."


	8. The Bangkok Resolution

Sherry stood in the hospital, observing Claira who was on the other side of glass in a clean room to insure she wasn't harmed in the lab. Every fiber of her being wanted nothing more than to protect her. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she called Hunnigan.

"Sherry, are you okay? I haven't spoken to you since they found you," Hunnigan said as she was boarding a flight to Columbia to lead the on-site analysis while Preston lead the rear support.

"I'm fine, really. I need you to do me a favor," Sherry said, Hunnigan asking what it was, "I need you to hide Claira."

"Claira?"

"The baby from the lab. I need you to do more than find her a family. I need you to bury her existence. Fake her death or something, Make it impossible for anyone to find her again," Sherry said, sniffing a little, and fighting a cry, but a tear still escaped.

"Sherry, are you sure you're okay?" Hunnigan asked.

"I need you to do that for me," Sherry said.

"Why? Why do I need to go that far?" Hunnigan asked.

"Because she's my daughter," Sherry said, Hunnigan stopping in her tracks.

"What? Sherry, I know you pulled her out of there, and you probably feel some maternal instinct, or something…"

"She's my biological daughter. Neo-Umbrella took samples from Jake and I when we were in China. Claira was born by surrogate," Sherry explained, Hunnigan realizing what Project Legacy was.

"I'm stepping onto the plane right now. Don't do anything rash, or tell anyone else that until I get there."

* * *

The BSAA tore Dr. Alvin Westerfield's lab apart and took him into custody. All of the information was fed to the analyst to determine if this was the end of the investigation. The lab from the pictures was without a doubt found, but how he acquired these samples and for what purpose was still an unknown.

They decided to let Alvin Westerfield stew for a few hours before Helena entered the room and sat across from him. His wrists were cuffed to the table, and his demeanor was relaxed and unconcerned. As if this was all temporary and he was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"There are many ways I can start this, but I'll start personally. Why did you kidnap a federal agent?" Helena asked.

"I took her because she was Sherry Birkin. The fact she is a federal agent is a coincidence. That girl is the holy grail of biological research. She's either a freak of nature or nature taking its next evolution, all depends on how you want to see it," Alvin replied.

"Your lab had virtually every bioweapon known to man in it? How does one go about acquiring that?"

"You can pester me with questions on specifics all you want. Bring up every name and buzzword. T-Virus, BOW, you don't even have the slightest fucking clue what any of it actually means," Alvin retorted, Helena's expression sinking to annoyance.

"Do not condescend to me. I may not know," Helena said, then pointed at the camera, "There are a lot of people, much smarter than me listening."

"Sherry Birkin was of particular intrigue to me and my research. The only living example of a human who was infected with G-Virus, and did not suffer any negative secondary mutations, but still has many of the benefits. I know the government never truly understood what happened to her to cause it, and I know damn well they were trying to replicate it."

"But of course, you, the genius, figured out something an army of doctors and millions of dollars couldn't? Is that what you're claiming?" Helena asked.

"I did. The initial presumption that after she was cured and the virus was removed from her body, she had lingering affects that couldn't be reversed. That is false. G-Virus is a cell, like any other cell, and it degenerates. It actually degenerates at a faster rate than red blood cells, lasting about a fifth of the time. If that was the case, Sherry would have no cells left, but every time I tested her blood, it was present and alive. The cure, did however prevent the cells from replicating. So where was it coming from?"

"Do tell," Helena said sarcastically.

"I had to answer this question first, why didn't she mutate, when others did? A twelve-year-old girl didn't suffer mutation, but healthy adult males did. Granted she was infected with the G-embryo, so she was secondarily infected, but the question remains. What if I told you, Sherry fought off the infection, because she was A. female, and B. just entering puberty."

Helena was curious, and he saw it on her face.

"At her age, she had probably only had one or two menstrual cycles, so her body was already going through a sudden and rapid shift. Because she was a genetic match for her father, and her body was already welcoming changing hormonal levels, it accepted it instead of rejecting it, which would have mutated her. The G-Virus took over her most active gland at the time, which would have been her pituitary gland. I noticed her G-Virus levels increased and decreased nearly in perfect tandem with her estrogen levels. Every time she has a menstrual cycle, her body is washed with G-Virus again. Her endocrine system perfectly regulating it.

"This is why she's nearly thirty and doesn't look a day over seventeen. Why she's so voluptuous, has no acne, vibrant hair and nails. It amplifies all of her feminine characteristics. It probably makes her insatiably horny too."

"I don't need to know that," Helena said, looking away for a moment.

"Best part for last, you can replicate it. Once you know you can regulate input and natural dosage with the endocrine system, you apply a G-Virus vaccine developed from her blood to avoid rapid replication, and directly infect your hormone generating glands. All benefits, zero side effects. I already tested it."

"On who?" Helena asked, Alvin smiling.

"Myself," He replied, then swiftly broke his chains from the table. He pushed the table in the air and when it flipped he kicked it into Helena, crushing her against the wall. Before she could fall he grabbed her neck and hoisted her into the air.

The door was kicked open by two agents who fired rounds into Alvin's back, but his body pushed them out, then releasing a _ting_ sound as they hit the ground. Releasing a chuckle, he threw Helena effortlessly through the reinforced glass then punched his fist straight the BSAA agent's chest. The second fired again, but had his neck snapped from the whiplash of being slapped away. Seeing a window at the end of the hall he ran and jumped through it, safely landing five stories below.

* * *

Leon entered the analyst section, a cleared room with several desks and the conference room in the back, seeing Preston still working while others were taking breaks or leaving for the day. His relationship with him thus far had been mostly antagonistic. Aside from that, Leon had to admit, Preston was the most dedicated analyst he had seen. His work ethic was commendable, and nearly everything he had concluded was correct, leading them closer to the truth.

Taking a chair from a nearby desk, he wheeled it next to Preston who looked over his shoulder at him.

"Agent Kennedy," Preston said, clicking through, highlighting and copying information from Westerfield's lab and pasting it on a word document.

"Anything on who Westerfield could have been working with, unless you think he had the means to acquire those samples alone," Leon said, Preston pausing to turn and face him.

"He'd need an infrastructure for this stuff. He had help. Finding it, shipping it, preserving it. He's probably the best endocrinologist on the planet, but that doesn't qualify him as a criminal mastermind," Preston said, Leon agreeing. "I was just about to find you actually, you want to take another stab at Smithson?"

"Of course."

"Westerfield produced C-Virus vaccines, but he was the only person on the market producing drugs for C-Virus tertiary exposure," Preston explained, Leon never hearing about tertiary exposure, and his face revealing that. "So the aerosol dispersal method for C-Virus used in Tall Oaks, loses its potency in seconds. They had developed a more persistent agent by China, but Tall Oaks would evaporate in the air. People who made contact with the residue of the agent, have prolonged symptoms. Fever, muscle weakness, coughing. Westerfield was the only person conducting research on it, so the drug is actually pretty expensive, and treatment with it is like chemo, it takes a while until remission."

"How many people suffer from it? How many Tall Oaks survivors are there?"

"Who were in the city when it happened? Maybe a hundred, it really was Raccoon two, the fact you survived both is nothing short of a miracle," Preston said, with Leon asking why this is about Smithson, "The drug was regularly shipped to a children's hospital in Seattle, one of the few hospitals treating for it. Guess who's a benefactor to this hospital?"

"Wesley Smithson. It's circumstantial," Leon said, before Preston opened his word document. He had highlighted an email chain between Wesley Smithson and Alvin Westerfield. "Direct communication with a known terrorist, there's my warrant. He's trying to salvage TerraSave, Claire trusts him, and nothing from the TerraSave revelations even touched him. I'm all for it's always the rich guy, but something doesn't add up here."

"Worth talking to regardless," Preston said, Leon nodding before asking him to pass him the information, so he could write up a warrant.

* * *

Sherry watched as Helena was rushed to the hospital in critical condition. By the time she was out of her surgery hours later, Hunnigan had arrived, leaning into her hospital room. Helena was in a neck brace, suffering a shattered collar bone, a dislocated shoulder, a concussion, and separated discs, but thankfully not a full break.

"BSAA is taking full control of the investigation," Hunnigan said, Sherry looking over at her from the chair in the room, "Investigative portion is pretty much over."

"Any leads on Westerfield?" Sherry asked.

"BOLO is out, but he's in the wind. About why you called earlier, follow me," Hunnigan said, Sherry sighing and walking out of the room with her. They entered the break room of the hospital, Hunnigan placing two stacks of forms on the table in front of Sherry.

"I gave you a second choice. Protect her yourself," Hunnigan said, Sherry leaning down to see it was for legal custody of Claira, "You're her biological mother, you have rights. No one will be allowed to touch her without your consent, not even the government. Or I can hide her, so far, so deep, not even you can find her."

Sherry looked at the paper work to take custody of Claira. Her daughter. Looking back up at Hunnigan, she stood up from the chair, Hunnigan following her to the elevator, taking it to Claira's floor. Walking to the glass, Sherry look at Claira getting a check up from a nurse.

"Is that Claira?" Hunnigan asked.

"Yeah," Sherry replied, "Hate to say it, but I actually like the name."

"Regardless of what happens next, you're going back to the states to recover. She can go with you," Hunnigan said.

"I've never asked you, but do you have kids?" Sherry asked, Hunnigan shaking her head.

"I made that decision a long time ago. Regardless of how often my parents say I need to settle down," Hunnigan replied.

"I decided as important all of this is to me, we all retire, and then what?" Sherry asked, Hunnigan blinking, "I want children, and I always said it stops being about me when I have them. Believe me, I want to take care of her. Even if I never carrier her with me, or gave birth to her myself, I never felt more connected with any other person than I did with her.

"What happened to me after Raccoon City, I never want to happen to anyone else. They kidnapped me, just because they had the opportunity. They recognized me, and if they know about Claira, someone will try to do the same. I know a lot of what happened to me, happened because of Simmons, but you and I both know this didn't end with him. She's not safe with me."

Hunnigan didn't react or say anything as Sherry gestured for the adoption papers.

"This is how I keep her safe," Sherry said, holding back tears, "Promise me she'll be safe."

"You have my word," Hunnigan said, Sherry placing the papers against the glass, forcing herself to look at Claira as she signed.

* * *

Leon sat across from Wesley Smithson, who decided to arrive without his lawyer this time. He wasn't annoyed, or angry. He was just curious what they had on him to get a warrant for anything.

"What do I owe the pleasure this time?" Wesley asked.

"Do you know a Dr. Alvin Westerfield?" Leon asked, Wesley nodding.

"Of course, he's one of the best doctors for treating viral bioweapons. He supplies my hospital in Seattle with drugs to help children there."

"Dr. Alvin Westerfield was just arrested for kidnapping a federal agent, and experimenting on her, and many others. He also supplies BOWs to a Columbian terrorist organization."

Wesley was beyond shocked. He looked absolutely shell shocked. His hand clenched into a fist, his teeth gritting, before he slammed his hand on the table, Leon leaning back a little.

"That son of a bitch," Wesley said, before removing his blackberry from his coat pocket, unlocking it, and sliding it across the table to Leon. "I didn't know about that, but I probably helped him do it. I arranged the transport for samples he needed for his research. You must understand, his work was cutting edge, he was truly the best. When he found his samples, I ensure he got them, getting it through customs for him. You'll find all of my communications with him, even the more illegal activities."

"You really didn't know, did you?" Leon asked, Wesley shaking his head.

"I've been using the family money to fight bioterrorism ever since it was my money. I'm from Raccoon City, but I wasn't there when it was destroyed. I helped form TerraSave, and ensure relief from events. The last shipment from Westerfield, was drugs for children," Wesley said, pulling a picture from his wallet and placing it down. Wesley was taking a picture with five children still recovering from Tall Oaks, posing with him.

"These two," Preston said, pointed at two girls, two sisters, one in her early teens the other maybe six. "Caroline and Maxine Jinkins. They escaped because their parents threw themselves at the creatures chasing them. Caroline grabbed her little sisters hand and ran, then carried her sister when she couldn't run anymore. They wandered through the woods on the outskirts of the city for days before they were found by the military clearing out infected and looking for survivors. They were dehydrated and in critical condition from exposure."

"Drew," he said, pointing at a young boy, no older than ten, "Him and his father escaped in a private plane at the last minute. They had to cross the entire city to get to the airfield. The concussion from the missile throttled their plane, his father died in the crash."

"Michelle," pointing at a girl in her mid-teens. "She found Luke," pointing at the last little boy, a toddler, "Alone in a car with a pack of them all over it, trying to get to him while he was still strapped to the car seat. She ran over, climbed to the top of the car and beat them down with a crow bar. The car still worked, so she drove it to the edge of the city and was picked up by the military."

"This is really good press. Why don't you use it?" Leon asked.

"It's not why I do it. Can you even imagine what the tragedy was like?" Wesley asked. Leon opened his wallet and showed him a picture of him, Claire, and Sherry not long after Raccoon City. Wesley took the picture, and looked up at Leon.

"We have a mutual friend. Claire, Sherry and I escaped together," Leon said, Wesley looking back up at Leon, "I was also on the president's protective detail during Tall Oaks. I can imagine."

"I accept my responsibility for this," Smithson said, holding out his wrists to Leon to be cuffed. Leon looked at his hands, then pushed them back.

"You'll be charged quietly, but what you do is important. You'll be reported with vagueness, and pay a few fines for customs laws. No need to drag down TerraSave, when you and Claire are the only ones keeping it alive. It's one bad report away from going down forever."

"Thank you," Wesley said, reaching across the table and shaking Leon's hand.

* * *

Smithson's phone was a goldmine, and using his side of the shipments, they could now pinpoint places and dates. All of the new information even indirectly led them to a name. The name that was likely attached to the organization behind all of this. The Connections.

"The Connections? What the hell is that?" Leon asked, Preston ears pricking up. That information hadn't crossed his desk yet.

"Did you say the Connections?" Preston asked, Leon saying he in fact did, "That's a name we've been following for a few years now, but we're not investigating, we've outsourced it."

"To who?" Leon asked, Preston looking around before gesturing for Leon to follow him to Hunnigan's office.

"This is classified, BSAA need to know, so it doesn't leave this room. Blue Umbrella is leading it," Preston said, Leon eyes widening.

"Why is the BSAA working with Blue Umbrella?" Leon asked.

"Not my call, and I was against it from day one," Preston said, "But the Connections is a group they've been investigating for years. The Remnants carried out the attack in Thailand, but we think they were actually hired by the Connections…holy shit," Preston said, realizing something and running to the white board.

"What now?" Leon asked, hating when he was scatter brained like this.

"What happened after New York and Bangkok?" Preston asked.

"How about we skip the twenty questions and you just tell me," Leon said.

"The U.N. convened and voted on the Bioterrorism Emergency Relief Resolution. Also known as the Bangkok Resolution. One of the key issues of the resolution was relaxing charitable donation regulations. It capped the limit, but removed the rule on amount of times you can donate. You can't donate a million dollars, but you could donate one dollar a million times. It created a loophole. It passed by a narrow margin, and relief funds began to pour into Thailand."

"How much?" Leon asked.

"Billions, most of evaporating in thin air. This was the chief argument in opposition, that is was ripe for fraud and laundering," Preston explained.

"What was Smithson's opinion?"

"Vehemently against it for the same reasons," Preston said, firmly cementing Smithson as too trusting but not evil.

"Do you think the Connections conducted the attack, to give pretense to pass it?"

"The attack in Bangkok was against world leaders. The Prime Minister of Thailand invited leaders from South America to discuss trade in the event the United States was dropping out of TPP. South America was a major hold out on the New York Resolution that died on the floor in the U.N., which was then just copied and pasted later and passed after Bangkok."

"They tried killing or scaring the leaders to vote for it. Because the Columbian President was there, they could say the Remnants were responsible with no one questioning the motives."

"President of Columbia was still a hold out," Preston said, then walked to his computer to find any news on his upcoming schedule.

"Hard to say when or if they'll attempt to attack him again," Preston said, finding nothing very compelling that stood out. Leon heard his phone ring, pulling it from his belt and saw it was Hunnigan.

"How's Sherry?" Leon asked.

"She's fine, all things considering. Westerfield escaped," Hunnigan said.

"What?" Leon asked, pressing speaker so Preston could hear, "Preston's here too, say that again."

"Westerfield escaped. He apparently synthesized some super soldier serum and threw Helena through reinforced glass like it was paper," Hunnigan said.

"Helena, is she…"

"She's alive, but she'll be out of commission for months," Hunnigan said, "We're medically transporting her back to the states as soon as she's stable enough for travel.

"I just forwarded you the results from an inquiry we put in after Smithson's phone revealed he helped Westerfield's associates in the Remnants with passports as well. They used falsified information in them, but know we have the information they used. The second any of them use those, we'll know. BSAA has a team on standby to deploy to wherever that is."

"Now it's a waiting game," Preston said, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Sherry is on her way back tomorrow, and I'll be here with some of the analysts tearing through the data here. We have over a million documents to go through, so Sandra has my job for the time being."

"I'll make sure she doesn't go power hungry," Leon said and hung up, sitting down again.

"I'll probably get the order to go to Columbia in a day or two, seeing as that's about all there's left to do," Preston said, Leon patting his shoulder.

"I know I was wound up a little, but you did good work," Leon said, extending his hand out for a handshake. Preston gave him the courtesy of standing up to shake his, Leon smile at the gesture.

"It was a pleasure agent Kennedy," Preston said, Leon releasing his hand and walking out of the office. Preston sat back down, took a deep breathe and continued his work.


	9. The Coup No One Noticed

Leon pulled to the pick up line at Dulles where Sherry was at the curb. Popping the trunk of the car, Sherry walked around to the back as Leon exited the car and opened it for her, Sherry tossing the bag in herself. A moment after Leon shut the door, Sherry hugged him tightly, Leon placing his hand on the back of her head and tucking it into his shoulder.

"This investigation is a pretty big cluster fuck," Leon said, Sherry nodding into his chest, "You broke the case though. We're as far as we are because of you."

"Thank you," Sherry said, letting him go and walking to the passenger side and sitting in the seat. Leon sat back down and merged with traffic and followed the signs to leave the airport.

"Where's Jake?" Leon asked.

"BSAA is keeping him on until it's complete, for continuity," Sherry replied, Leon agreeing that made sense, "I really need to stop getting kidnapped."

"Both times you busted yourself out," Leon said, Sherry releasing a small laugh, "How was Helena doing before you left?"

"She wasn't even conscious yet. They're keeping her in a coma," Sherry said.

"She'll get better, she's as tough as Claire," Leon said, Sherry nodding in agreement.

"I've been meaning to ask you," Sherry said, Leon tilting his head a little, "Ashley Graham?"

"Even you know about that?" Leon asked.

"It's the worst kept secret in the world," Sherry said, Leon chuckling.

"What about it?" Leon asked.

"How and why for starters," Sherry said.

Leon stopped at a yield, waiting for a few cars to drive by before turning into his lane.

"I've sporadically ran into her from time to time for years. Kind of unavoidable. She was always interested, and I was always hesitant, for employment reasons and romantic ones."

"When did the hesitation stop?" Sherry asked.

"After New York," Leon started, taking in a breath, "Look at everyone we know. In one way shape or form, we're stuck. Chris and I are well in our forties. We've been doing this for nearly twenty years. If it ever comes to a place, where we actually win, or it's at least contained, we'll be too old to enjoy it.

"Before and after New York, I was a drunken mess any hour I wasn't working. Ashley still knows the right people, and she knew where I drank. I tried to push her away, but she didn't let me. Ashley put me back together.

"I'm slowly disengaging from this life little by little. Take the supervisor job, mentor and teach, make sure you guys are ready when we hand off the baton. So when I stop, it's not as jarring. I've already lined up an instructor position at the DSO training site, I'm retiring as an agent next year."

"Wow," Sherry said, Leon smiling and nodding, "Take it its pretty serious with her then."

"I'm willing to find out how far we can go. Not booking a church anytime soon," Leon clarified.

"Shame I'm a little too old to be your flower girl," Sherry said, both of them laughing.

* * *

Jessica sat on a BSAA plane in a cage, her ankles and wrists chained to a steel loop at her feet. The BSAA was transporting her back to London to face formal charges. Leaning back in her seat, all she could hear around her was a guard nearby, and the engines of the cargo plane.

"Hey, whose dick do I need to suck to get some water?" Jessica shouted, the guard walking around the cage and standing in front of her. It was a female BSAA agent who didn't appear in the slightest bit amused. "Please tell me yours."

"Shut it prisoner," the agent said, slapping the door of the cage with a baton before walking back around. Jessica suddenly heard a thud, followed by a collapsing body. Slow footsteps approached the front of the cage, before Jessica saw a second woman reach over and pulled chair across from her.

"Who the hell are you?" Jessica asked, assuming she was here to kill her to tie up loose ends. The woman was a petite Asian woman with short straight black hair. She was in mostly dark tactical clothing, hut her vest was red.

"My name is Ada Wong," she said, Jessica smiling.

"You're the super spy, I've heard of you," Jessica said. "Wet work isn't your normal forte, so I'll assume you're not here for that."

"I'm here to offer you a job," Ada said, Jessica looking at her chains, figuring listening wouldn't make it any worse.

"I'm listening."

"You and I are not that different. Our only loyalty is to ourselves, and a good payday," Ada said with a grin.

"I'm also a fan of a stiff dick and stiffer drink," Jessica said, making Ada chuckle.

"I heard you were mouthy, but listen for a change," Ada said, Jessica tilting her head. "Your first years payment will be providing you the means out of this cell. From there, two million a year. We will be conducting operations for the most shadowy organization in the world."

"The United States government?" Jessica ask sarcastically, and Ada only smirked. "You're kidding?"

"They need people, to do things they can't officially authorize. We need a reconnaissance specialist, I recommended you. This also allows the government to keep track of some of the more volatile and dangerous specialists in the world. Former Umbrella employees for instance, keeps a leash on them, allows them to still be useful. How do you keep tabs on people like us? Just pay us more."

"Are terms negotiable?" Jessica asked, Ada nodding. "Five hundred thousand for the first year instead of free, I'll accept one point five million a year after that."

"Deal," Ada said, taking the keys, opening her cell and freed her from her chains. Jessica rubbed her wrists as they stepped away, Ada pointing to a set of parachutes on the floor. They both strapped their bags on before opening the cargo ramp and leaping out.

* * *

Three weeks after Sherry returned to the United States, the Remnants made the mistake the BSAA was waiting for them to make. They had used one of their passports to travel. Miguel Gutierrez, the assumed leader of the Remnants and brother of Javier, used the passport the BSAA was able to track, saying his name was Gabriel Rosario.

Jake had traveled to London, advising on the investigation with the BSAA since he was involved from the very beginning, allowing continuity when it was fully handed off from the DSO who was no longer involved directly. They were now on standby, waiting for one of the Remnants to move so they could intercept and prevent a potential attack.

"They finally messed up," Chris said as he entered the aircraft hangar the Silver Dagger operated out of.

Their OSPREY was parked, fueled, and ready to move on a moments notice. When first stepping into the hangar, they had a small personal gym when waiting for an assignment. They had a fridge and a microwave in the back, with a metal shelf holding miscellaneous snacks. At the far end was a small armory, and immediately outside was a range.

"Remnants?" D.C. asked from the pull up bars, dropping down and walking over.

Chris went to the computer in the center of the room, typing a few things then projecting the screen onto a larger monitor on the wall.

"Miguel Gutierrez, Columbian terrorist, leader of the Remnants of Truth. He used BOWs in an attack in Thailand in an attempt to assassinate the Columbian President and other world leaders. Intelligence suggests the Remnants are actually a proxy organization of a group known only as the Connections."

Miguel looked a lot like his brother, but was half a foot taller with a scar across his cheek.

"The Connections is the group the BSAA is helping Blue Umbrella investigate right?" Nadia asked.

"We haven't handed this off to them yet, and I don't plan to," Chris said, then looked over at Jake who was still laying back on a couch in a makeshift recreation room. "Jake, feel free to be a part of this at any time."

"He's been like that for weeks. All he does is read and relax. I tried sparring with him, dude leveled me," D.C. said to Chris.

"Where did they pop back up?" Jake said from the couch.

"Thailand, back to where it all started. Prime Minister is hosting a unity event, showing the world they are not afraid of terrorists," Chris said.

"I'll presume the President of Columbia will be in attendance," Jake said, finally standing up from the couch and walking over. "Plan is, BSAA bolsters security for the event, we keep eyes on the Columbian President?" Jake asked.

"That's the plan," Chris answered.

"You need to stop reading the surface of a situation, and dig a little," Jake said, leaning against the table they were huddled around. "I have access to all the same information as you, but you still want to go head first into this?"

"Share with the class Jake," Chris said, figuring he knew something and was holding it above their heads.

"Westerfield made seven of the serums that turned him into the Hulk. Two were recovered in his lab, one he used on himself. Where did the other four go?" Jake asked, everyone looking at him, then back at Chris. "How many people is Miguel bringing with him?"

"The four of them, could be like Westerfield. One of them is bad enough, four is another thing entirely sir," Nadia said.

"We're assuming he did…"

"You have to assume," Jake interrupted. "If you make a plan based on your enemy at his weakest, you will fail."

"I have to agree with him boss," D.C. said, Chris looking over at him. "Too risky not to consider it."

"Nadia, send that possibility up the chain if they don't know already. Customs won't have the manpower to get them when they land. They need to wave them through, and local authorities will tail them. Strict observe and report," Chris said, everyone nodding and preparing to leave, Nadia calling in the plan to higher.

"Blue Umbrella is a private army. We may need an army to take them down," Jake said, Chris again flatly refusing.

"Wheels up in five mikes!" Chris shouted, everyone but Jake acknowledging the order.

* * *

President David Herrera of Columbia walked the tarmac to his plane with his security detail to his front and rear in sets in two. Having arrived before him and already on the plane was his Vice President Dina Iniguez, the Minister of Defense Rafael Cologne, and Minister of Foreign Relations Hector Giuliano. His security detail took their posts as the crew conducted final checks before they'd take off for the summit in Thailand.

When they were clear to move in the cabin, the President stood up from his chair and poured himself a drink from the bar.

"How much longer do we allow the BSAA to operate?" Rafael asked.

"Are they sharing information and cooperating with our local officials?" David asked.

"For now."

"Until the relationship ceases to be mutual, they will continue to operate in Columbia. Every press briefing they've given since they raided that lab, they've minimized their credit and bolstered ours. We're team players, and this situation extends beyond Columbia."

"Understood," Rafael said and rose to get his own drink. "Before we took off, we were alerted to a high security risk in Bangkok. Four members of the Remnants already touched down."

"We go undeterred. If I'm the bait, so be it," David said, finishing his drink in a single gulp.

"Miguel Gutierrez himself is there," Rafael said.

"Talk trade with Thailand and arrest a terrorist in the same evening. I call that winning," David said, pouring himself a second drink and returning to his chair to drink it.

"Since we have a moment, what are our priorities in the meeting?" Hector asked.

"Peru is killing us on trade, so getting them to move more goods through our ports instead is a priority.." David said before two of the guards drew their weapons and killed the other guards in the cabin. A the echoing from another part of the plane suggested this wasn't the only room under attack.

"What is the meaning of…" David said, rising from his feet only to be slapped back down.

"Good evening, El Presidente," the guard said, holding him at gun point while the other three members had bags through over their heads and were thrown to the floor with their wrists tied.

"How were you compromised? Money? Blackmail?" David asked.

"Your security is dead," his guard said with smile.

"All I see is a traitor, not a dead man. Not yet at least."

"Even the person, you think you're talking to, is dead. I always imagined this conversation a little different in my head," the guard said, sitting across from him the Vice President's seat.

"What are you talking about?"

"Pardon my manners. My name is Miguel Gutierrez," Miguel said with a grin.

"What? Your name is Francisco…"

"No it's Miguel, but I understand the confusion. You took out Westerfield, but not soon enough. In exchange for a few terrorist attacks to encourage U.N. action, they promised us some interesting things from Westerfield. Boy did he deliver."

"What did he give you?"

"The cure to the C-Virus cocoon. It took him a little bit of time to whip up a batch that preserved cognitive functions, but well worth the wait. I am a very patient man after all," Miguel said, gesturing to one of his men who pulled a suitcase from one of the overhead bins and placed it on the table in front of him.

Miguel opened the case and tossed a few items to the side to reveal a hidden compartment locked by a code. He typed in the bin, a beep and the sound of lock disengaging being heard. In the compartment was two syringes, left and right of the center where a device was embedded, both attached to it by a tube. Reading the syringe on the left, the men held down David so Miguel could take a vial of his blood.

"What are you going to do with that?" David asked.

"Patience," Miguel said, and removed the needle by unscrewing it, then plugging it into the machine and pressed a button on it. It hummed to life, synthesizing an unknown substance.

"There is no need to kill them. Let them go. It's me you want," David said, Miguel smiling at him, looking up from the machine for a moment.

"Pretty soon, no one will need any of you. They'll never even notice you're gone," Miguel said, as the machine began to fill the syringe on the right. Miguel picked it up once full, and attached a second needle to it.

"Go ahead and do it then," David said.

To his surprise, Miguel injected himself. After moment his body began to twitch before it combusted into flames and he yelled in pain before he was covered in a crystalized cocoon.

"What the fuck?" David asked as Miguel still sat across from him, but now a melted shell.

Within the next minute, the shell began to crack. It split open from the top and folded down a body erupting from the cocoon. It fell to the side, crashing to the floor in a wet heap, before looking up at David.

"Impossible," David said, watching his doppelganger struggle to his feet.

"Bronze," one of Miguel's men said.

"Sword," Miguel said with the President's voice. A challenge and password to confirm he retained his memory.

"Strip him, and throw him," Miguel said, his men violently pulling the President of Columbia from his chair and dragging him to the back of the plane. They striped him naked, before lowing the ramp, and throwing him into the ocean screaming from thirty-eight thousand feet.


End file.
